Alaska was my 50th state to visit, and I had purposely avoided taking the airlines up to the “Last Frontier” in favor of a more adventurous arrival. I had grown up on my dad’s shaggy-dog tales of pushing an ancient Oldsmobile station wagon up the unpaved Alaska Highway of the 1970s. The Alcan, the Yukon—these were fanciful, faraway places that loomed large in an 8-year-old’s fertile imagination. Discovering their real-world counterparts for myself as an adult made for a joyous, memorable journey—all the better for sharing it with my frequent riding partner, Brad Phillips, and my wife, Dawn, on her first big trip on her own motorcycle. 

And yet there was an unexpected element of frustration. As I gained an appreciation for the grand scale and severe beauty of the landscape, so did it become evident that the few roads here are the slenderest ribbons of civilization that barely scratch the surface of the wilderness. All the really interesting bits seemed to start at the untracked horizon. The epic distances also limited the amount of backcountry exploration possible, even if we’d been equipped for off-road travel. This is vast country that begs to be explored by air. 

Indeed, the farther north we went, the more we found ourselves in airplane nirvana. Every Tom, Dick, and Harriet we met seemed to own a tricked-out Super Cub or a 185. Light plane traffic was a regular feature even above the loneliest stretches of road. When we got to Anchorage, I went bug-eyed at the vast rows of rugged taildraggers parked cheek to jowl at Merrill Field (PAMR)—a mini-Oshkosh without end. And then more of the same at the Lake Hood gravel strip, plus hundreds of seaplanes and amphibs around the lake. I’d found bug-smasher heaven.

• READ MORE: Finding That Right Pilot Buddy to Bid With

On the return leg of the trip, Dawn and I detoured from the Alaska Highway via the Haines Cut-Off, and then took the Alaska State Ferry down the Lynn Canal to Juneau. There we rented a straight-back Cessna 172 on bush tires, accompanied by a grizzled Alaska veteran of a flight instructor, and set off for several hours of exploration around spectacular Glacier Bay, including a low-altitude inspection of Muir Glacier. It was a highlight of the trip for both of us, and we talked about flying an airplane of our own to Alaska someday. 

Five years later, it almost happened. Having decided to sell everything, buy a sailboat, and escape to the Caribbean for a few years, we set off on one last hurrah with our 1953 Piper Pacer. We visited friends in New England, Florida, and Phoenix, explored Mexico’s Baja California peninsula, and revisited old haunts up the West Coast. But then, in Vancouver, Washington, our mid-time O-320 engine nearly self-destructed—I was lucky to land in one piece. Instead of enjoying one last adventure to Alaska and selling the Pacer there at a profit, I sadly gave her up as is/where is, absorbing the $12,000 loss philosophically.

Since then, I’ve spent quite a bit of time up north for work. On the Boeing 757 and 767 I occasionally flew to Anchorage, and since being based in Seattle as a 737 captain, both Anchorage and Fairbanks have featured heavily in my summertime bidding strategy. Of course, Alaskans will tell you that the best thing about Anchorage is that it’s so close to Alaska. I enjoy that proximity, the ever-present GA activity, the scruffy cast of interesting characters to chat up over a brew at Darwin’s Theory, and the occasional hiking or fishing adventure.

When Dawn and I bought our Stinson 108 in August 2022, there was no question of whether we’d fly it to Alaska. It’s a tail-dragging, tube-and-fabric natural for the north country. The question was when? Building our hangar and attached living quarters came first—and that project was largely finished by July of last year. More seriously, the plane was unproven after a complete rebuild. And while the restorer did an excellent job of returning the Stinson to 1946 factory spec (plus modern radios with ADS-B), there were some updates that needed to be made before taking it farther afield. 

Since then, I’ve put about 100 hours on the tachometer, with a few minor issues cropping up. My A&P/IA encourages owner-assisted maintenance, which has been great for getting to know the airplane. We’ve added an Airwolf spin-on oil filter, installed shoulder harnesses, retrofitted LED lighting, and swapped out the ancient, venturi-powered turn coordinator for a modern uAvionix AV-30C primary flight display. I’ll never fly the Stinson IFR, but inadvertent IMC happens, and I feel much better having adequate instrumentation to survive a 180-degree turn. 

• READ MORE: Exploring New Zealand’s Grand Islands by Air

Weather permitting, we’re taking the Stinson on a shakedown cruise to Northern California in a few weeks. It should be about 13 hours round trip, our first longer cross-country with the airplane. If all goes well, we’ll head up towards Alaska the following month.. The general consensus seems to be that late May to early July is the best weather period, after incessant lows stop roaring ashore from the Gulf of Alaska but before the thunderstorm and wildfire seasons get going. In reality, weather can be extremely variable any time of year in this part of the world, and our itinerary will stay accordingly flexible. 

I should be able to bid a work schedule with about three weeks off. There are a few potential routes north. Having regularly plied the coastal route in the flight evels, I’d love to go that way, but the chance of getting a long, reliable weather window (in an area with notoriously poor weather and few airports) is pretty slim. In all likelihood, we will clear Canadian customs in Abbotsford, British Columbia, and head north to Prince George via the Fraser River Valley.

From there we can head northeast to join the Alaska Highway, northwest to the Cassiar Highway, or straight up to Watson Lake via MacKenzie and the infamous roadless Trench. The last two are more direct than the Alaska Highway but feature far fewer airports and little weather reporting. The Stinson’s relative lack of range is a big factor here. We can only do about 300 sm in still air with one hour reserve. We’ll likely need to carry jerry cans.

Frankly, given the potential for lengthy bouts of poor weather, I’ll be happy to just make it to Anchorage, where we have several sets of friends. Anything beyond that is a bonus. We enjoy the Kenai Peninsula and wouldn’t mind exploring around there and visiting family friends in Homer. It would also be nice to get up to Denali in good weather. Time permitting, we’d like to land above the Arctic Circle at Bettles, though I doubt we’ll have the time to get all the way up to Deadhorse or Barrow. If we really hit the weather jackpot, I’d love to visit Prince William Sound and the Gulf of Alaska coastline from Valdez to Juneau on the return leg. We’ll see how it goes. 

For the first time in ages, I’ve bought a bunch of paper charts and pubs, as we’ll be in areas too remote to depend on an iPad. Paper is also good for getting a feel for the lay of the land and war gaming various weather scenarios. The plane is nearly ready. I’ve ordered the FCC radio station license and CBP user fee decal. I’m currently getting together camping and survival gear and will shortly begin the weighing and winnowing process. I’m also spending a lot of time looking at flight procedures and weather sources for Canada and the various areas of Alaska. 

I’ll admit that I’m a bit nervous. This is a big trip that will definitely stretch my comfort level. It’s the most ambitious thing I’ve done in a light plane in at least eight years, perhaps ever. But most everything I’ve done in my life that was worth doing started out with this exact feeling. In every case I’ve been able to stay calm, take each challenge as it comes, think things through, and come up with solutions that get me through in one piece, usually with some more great stories to tell around the campfire.

With any luck, I’ll have a few more to tell you in the coming months. 

This column first appeared in the July/August Issue 949 of the FLYING print edition.

The post Love Affair: The Last Frontier Awaits appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1974 Piper PA-28R-200 Arrow.

Piper’s range of fixed-gear PA-28s, from the Cherokee 140 to the 235 hp Dakota, can handle many missions including training, personal travel, and cargo hauling. But for pilots in search of a personal aircraft with a bit more speed and efficiency than the similar looking fixed-gear models, the Arrow presents an appealing combination of speed, good looks, and economy.

For pilots who trained for their private certificates in Pipers, the Arrow is a natural step up that is less likely to break your budget than larger, more powerful models that have more complex systems and burn a lot more fuel. The Arrow for sale here is also a well-equipped training platform for pilots seeking commercial, instrument, and other advanced ratings.

This 1974 Arrow has 6,731 hours on the airframe, 849 hours since overhaul on its 200 hp Lycoming IO-360-C1C engine, and 177 hours since overhaul on the propeller. The engine is equipped with GAMI injectors.

The panel features a Garmin GMA 340 audio panel, Garmin GNS 430 WAAS GPS/nav/comm with localizer and glideslope, MAC 1700 nav/comm, Garmin GTX 345 transponder, Century II autopilot, and JPI EDM 800 engine monitor.

Pilots looking for a four-seat retractable that is suitable for long cross-country trips but easy to handle and familiar to those who trained in Piper PA-28s should consider this 1974 Piper PA-28R-200 Arrow, which is available for $84,900 on AircraftForSale.

If you’re interested in financing, you can do so with FLYING Finance. Use their airplane loan calculator to calculate your estimated monthly payments. Or, to speak with an aviation finance specialist, visit flyingfinance.com.

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The post This 1974 Piper PA-28R-200 Arrow Is a Cost-Conscious, Complex ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1967 Cessna 172H Skyhawk.

How many times have you wished you could change just one thing about your airplane, whether it is your own machine or one you are renting for training or travel.

Perhaps it could use more power, more responsive controls or a slightly larger cabin. In the case of the venerable Cessna 172, pilots occasionally wish they could swap its tricycle gear for a taildragger setup.

Well, you can.

The vintage Cessna for sale here might cause observers to look twice. It almost could be a more familiar Cessna 180 of 185, but the swept vertical tail suggests something else. There are quite a few converted Cessna 150s out there, but this aircraft looks larger. It is easy to imagine the conversations as people try to solve this visual riddle.

At first the desire to change a standard 172 into a taildragger might seem counterintuitive. After all, engineers developed the 172 from the tailwheel-equipped 170 in an effort to make landings and takeoffs easier. The result was one of the most forgiving, easy-to-fly aircraft on the market.

Still, a taildragger version promises to bring the 172’s friendly flight characteristics to backcountry enthusiasts, pilots working on their tailwheel technique, or those who simply prefer tailwheel flying.  

This 1967 Cessna 172H has 600 hours on the airframe and on its Continental O-300 engine. The aircraft is equipped with a seaplane propeller. The IFR panel includes the original standard equipment for 172H.

Pilots looking for a reliable, economical alternative to a Cessna 180, 185, or other larger taildraggers should consider this 1967 Cessna 172H Skyhawk tailwheel conversion, which is available for $75,000 on AircraftForSale.

If you’re interested in financing, you can do so with FLYING Finance. Use their airplane loan calculator to calculate your estimated monthly payments. Or, to speak with an aviation finance specialist, visit flyingfinance.com.

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• The Aviation Consumer: Used Aircraft Guide: Cessna 172
• The Aviation Consumer: BRS Retrofits: Cessna 172 and 182

The post This 1967 Cessna 172H Skyhawk Is a Tailwheel-Converted ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

You did your weight-and-balance planning properly, ensuring that you were in the weight and center-of-gravity (CG) limits. Your preflight revealed no potential surprises. Now you’re lined up on the runway, your pretakeoff checks completed.

You release the brakes and move the throttle forward smoothly, just how you were taught. Your eyes scan from outside to inside, ensuring the temperatures and pressures are in the green and the airspeed is alive.

You rotate smoothly, but as the nose pitches, you feel yourself sliding backward. You instinctively grip the control column harder and pull it back with you. Your brain briefly registers that something has gone seriously wrong. The last thing you hear is the shrill shriek of the stall warning.

I wish I could say that something like this is extreme and highly unlikely. But unfortunately it’s not.

I should know. I almost became a statistic of a loss of control and stall during takeoff. I was flying with a friend, and it was very much like the scenario described above, only we were in a taildragger. I noticed something wasn’t right as soon as the tail came up on the takeoff. I went to rotate, and my seat started to slide backward.

Luckily, my friend, who was also a pilot, noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye. As I went sliding back, taking the control column with me, he pushed forward, hard, preventing a violent pitch. We almost went off the runway, but thanks to his quick reaction, we managed to get airborne and climb away safely.

I couldn’t understand how it happened. I checked that my seat was securely latched twice before we took off. Upon landing, we discovered that a stop on the seat rail was not correctly fitted. In fact, it was not fitted at all. It should have prevented the seat from moving more than about 5 inches should the latch mechanism fail. Needless to say, checking those stops is now part of my preflight. 

Have you heard that over 28 percent of fatal stall/spin accidents occur during takeoff? 

Why Do Aircraft Stall During Takeoff?

During takeoff, an aircraft is in a vulnerable place. With flaps and gear out, you’re creating a lot of drag, and it doesn’t take a large external force to upset the flight path. It’s also a critical phase of flight, requiring a lot of concentration. Even the smallest distraction can set a chain of events in motion.

If you have read previous articles on stalling, you probably know why aircraft stall (it’s all about critical angle of attack, not airspeed), how to recognize it, and have a better idea of how to recover and avoid it. If not, here’s a summary.

Since the beginning of 2024 alone, I have come across at least five GA accidents that resulted in a stall on takeoff or the go-around. There are also many accidents involving commercial aircraft that spring to mind. They all share a common theme—pilot decision.

Aeronautical decision-making (ADM) plays a big role in risk mitigation, and a quick Google search of stalls during the takeoff and approach indicate that the decisions of the pilot are what brought on that situation. This highlights the need for good quality training that isn’t just about the flying but also includes the decision-making process required for every flight.

Contributing Factors

Weight and Performance

Have you done your weight-and-balance calculations? Are you below the maximum all up weight (MAUQ) of the aircraft? Have you considered the day’s conditions? Just because the aircraft has four seats and a MAUW of 2,300 pounds doesn’t mean you should load it to the hilt.

A heavier aircraft requires more runway to get airborne. Have you done a performance calculation for the runway you’re operating from? Have you considered the density altitude, runway slope, headwind, and tailwind?

If you haven’t, you might find yourself halfway down the runway and still below flying speed. There’s a fence at the end of the runway. You glance inside, noticing your speed is still 10 knots below V_R. You look outside again, and the fence is uncomfortably close.

You have no choice. You pull back hard on the control column. The aircraft unwillingly unsticks from the ground but doesn’t climb. You pull back more because you have to clear the fence, and the stall horn sings its song.

Elevator Trim Position

Ever wondered why training aircraft have a neutral trim position? Have you seen airliners that have a green trim range indicator on their instrumentation? Light aircraft have quite a small CG envelope, so a neutral trim position is sufficient as long as the aircraft is loaded within the envelope.

But larger aircraft have a much wider CG range, and the trim is calculated before every takeoff.

The above photo is of the Embraer 135 multifunction display (MFD). Can you see the pitch-trim indicator? It’s not in an obvious place, and you could miss that it is set well out of the green range.

Normally, taking off with it in this position will result in an aural warning as you advance the thrust levers. However, should the aural warning not work (maybe a circuit breaker was pulled), the pilot could easily overlook the trim setting, leaving themselves open to overrotation and a potential stall after takeoff.

Taking off with the elevator trim in the wrong position could result in overrotation if it’s set too far nose up or underrotation, requiring the pilot to use excessive force and possibly overcorrect to over-rotation, if set too far nose down.

Another consideration is during the approach to land. In light aircraft, it is a good idea to have the elevator trim in the neutral position when landing. Depending on the aircraft and conditions, this might make the controls feel a little heavier on the approach, but it will protect you in the event of a go-around.

Applying power to go around with the trim too far in the nose-up position will result in a large upward pitch, which could result in a stall if you’re not expecting it. 

Center of Gravity

Training aircraft are designed to have a forward CG as it makes them more stable. This doesn’t mean that loading heavy bags or people in the aircraft won’t shift the CG aft. An aft CG could result in less, or even no, pitch down of the nose during a stall. 

During takeoff, it could result in premature rotation before flying speed is achieved, leading to very little or no climb. To achieve more lift at low speed, we can increase the angle of attack, but this gets us dangerously close to the critical AOA. 

While not that relevant to training aircraft, another consideration is load shift. Do you remember the Boeing 747 that crashed in Kabul, Afghanistan, in 2013? Cargo wasn’t secured correctly and shifted aft on takeoff. 

Load shift becomes a consideration in any aircraft carrying cargo. Flying cargo in the GA8 Airvan, Cessna Grand Caravan, and Daher Kodiak, I was always acutely aware of correctly loading and securing the contents.

Aircraft Not Correctly Configured for Takeoff

In 1987, a Northwest Airlines MD-82 crashed after takeoff. The subsequent investigation indicated that the flaps and slats were not correctly configured for takeoff, resulting in a longer than normal takeoff run, reduced climb performance, and stall after getting airborne.

Investigation findings highlighted the improper use of checklists and SOP noncompliance to be contributing factors. 

I recently came across an accident report involving a Cessna 172, which stalled during takeoff in 2022.

The pilot loaded the aircraft with two other adults and operated out of a runway at 4,900 feet elevation. The flight took place in the early morning, so it wasn’t too hot yet (68 degrees Fahrenheit). 

Since the pilot was a holder of a commercial pilot license, it should have been an uneventful takeoff. Unfortunately, they decided that it was a good idea to strap the right-hand door of the aircraft to the wing strut to hold it open.

The increased drag resulted in a longer takeoff run, lack of climb performance, and subsequent stall.

Accidents like these highlight the importance of quality training to set the foundation for good airmanship and ADM. 

Risks and Considerations

While the majority of stalls during takeoff can be avoided just by practicing good airmanship and proper planning, there are some scenarios that might be outside of your control. Ask your instructor and see what they think.

Engine Failure After Takeoff

Many articles have been written about the engine failure after takeoff (EFATO), followed by the “impossible turn.” I’m not going to get into that here. But a stall can be prevented following an EFATO by identifying a suitable landing place within 30 to 45 degrees either side of the aircraft nose and flying it down rather than attempting a turn back to the runway. 

During your PPL training, you will be taught the pretakeoff safety briefing and touch checks, so that should something go wrong, you will instinctively react and recover. This is done to overcome the startle factor when things suddenly go awry, allowing us to instinctively do what we have been trained to do.

Birds

Where there is a runway, there will be birds. They are attracted to airfields and airports like bees to honey. No matter how well you scan the skies ahead, there is always a chance of birds crossing your flight path on takeoff.

What do you do?

For the most part, birds dive down to get out of the way. To create space, the logical thing for us to do is go up, right? Remember, we’re likely low, slow, and already at 5 to 10 degrees AOA for the climb, so pulling back on the control column is not the best idea.

Your best option is probably just to continue. If impact is imminent, you could duck down below the instrument panel should the birds go through the windscreen. Also consider that you may have engine trouble following the impact.

I’d rather deal with an engine failure than put myself into a low-level stall.

Downdrafts and Wind Shear

Common in the vicinity of thunderstorms, or mountainous areas, downdrafts can have you plummeting toward the earth at thousands of feet per minute. Consider delaying your departure until the storm has passed or until the winds have died down.

If you do find yourself caught in a downdraft, whether at altitude or close to the ground, don’t attempt to pitch to the heavens to outclimb it. You might just stall in the process.

Instead, don’t change the aircraft configuration, keep the wings level, add power, and do your best to fly out of it.

Stall Recovery During Takeoff

As you can see, stalls close to the ground should be avoided at all costs. But what should you do if you find yourself in that situation? A Google search doesn’t provide much information on recovery as most articles focus on prevention.

If the odds are stacked against you and you do find yourself stalled low to the ground, I can’t provide you with a one-size-fits-all recovery technique as there are too many variables involved.

Power-On Recovery Technique

1) Release back pressure to unload the wing. This needs to be just enough as releasing too much back pressure could result in a descent.

2) Simultaneously, smoothly apply full power. Anticipate the yaw and correct with rudder. Be aware that the aircraft will want to pitch toward the canopy, so you might need slight forward pressure on the control column to prevent it from overcorrecting. 

3) Keep the wings level and the ball in the middle with rudder.

4) Once the aircraft is stable and you have a positive rate of climb, do the after-takeoff checks.

While this is the recovery procedure for minimum height loss, remember that you could still lose several hundred feet during the recovery maneuver.

Some might argue that if you are low, it might be best to keep the aircraft in the stall as you will likely impact the ground with minimal forward speed. 

Personally, I would focus on keeping the wings level with rudder to prevent a low-level spin, aim to impact the ground as slowly as possible, and fly the aircraft as far into the crash as possible.

In Summary

Stalls close to the ground are rarely recoverable.

A correctly configured aircraft operated within its limits by a competent pilot shouldn’t get close to a stall. Prevention is better than cure, and a solid understanding of the fundamentals coupled with practical experience from quality training is essential to developing the skills required to keep you out of danger.

To become a safer pilot, I recommend more research of your own so that you can learn from the mistakes of others.

The post Takeoff Stalls and How to Prevent Them appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

So when the younger Goddard earned his pilot’s license near his home in British Columbia, Canada, earlier this year, he knew who would be among his first passengers. The duo slipped the surly bonds together in a Cessna 172 from Campbell River Airport (CYBL), and Ryan’s two-camera video of the flight has become a local viral sensation on Vancouver Island.

Granny lived up to her grandson’s billing as the most positive influence in his life and whose attitude helped him decide to learn to fly.

“Oh, this is so beautiful. Thank you, God, for making my life so beautiful. And take care of my most loved pilot,” Colleen said as they lifted off.

The two took a few laps around the local area, including a tour of some snow-capped mountains. A second flight is planned.

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared on AVweb.

The post Proud Granny Celebrates First Flight appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

There was no damage or injuries, except for frayed nerves, but as a precaution the school’s chief mechanic took a look at the Cessna 150. Mostly it was done to show the learner that part of being a pilot was being responsible. If you have an unintentional off-runway experience, you have a mechanic inspect the airplane as a precaution. The CFI didn’t think there was any damage as there hadn’t been a prop strike. The chief mechanic confirmed this.

It became a teaching moment for the rest of us CFIs. One of the instructors insisted that the FAA and the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) had to be notified. He then went into a story about “a buddy of his” who had a similar experience and found himself in a great deal of trouble because he didn’t call. There was a group eye roll. Then the Federal Aviation Regulations Aeronautical Information Manual (FAR/AIM) was brought out, and the learners instructed to look up Part 830, which provides guidance on when you need to notify the NTSB and, if need be, the FAA.

When to Call the NTSB

Although going off the runway may seem like high drama when it happens to you, it likely falls under the category of an incident, not an accident, per the definition found in Part 830 of the FAR/AIM. 

• READ MORE: Scaring Yourself into Additional Dual Instruction

According to the definition, aircraft accidents are specifically defined as events that involve a fatality, serious injury, or substantial damage to the aircraft and require NTSB notification.

NTSB 830.5 states that notification must happen if there is damage to property, other than the aircraft, estimated to exceed $25,000 for repair (including materials and labor) or fair market value in the event of total loss, whichever is less. Ding up the wheel pants on the clapped-out, older-than-you-by-20-years Cessna 172, no notification. If the airplane collides with aircraft on the ramp or totals the Lexus sedan parked on the ramp, a call to the NTSB will be in your future.

With the exception of removing wreckage to rescue people or preserve it from further damage, NTSB 830.10 tells us to preserve the wreckage, stating, “the operator of an aircraft involved in an accident or incident for which notification must be given is responsible for preserving to the extent possible any aircraft wreckage, cargo, and mail aboard the aircraft, and all records, including all recording mediums of flight, maintenance, and voice recorders, pertaining to the operation and maintenance of the aircraft and to the airmen until the Board takes custody thereof or a release is granted pursuant to § 831.12(b).”

• READ MORE: Always Look for a Place to Land

Basically, the accident is treated like a crime scene, and evidence should not be disturbed if possible. If not, the original position should be documented. Pictures taken with a smartphone usually suffice.

If the aircraft has sustained substantial damage, and it is obvious it can’t fly, the NTSB asks to be notified. This is when we get into the gray area of “do we need to notify the FAA?” If there are no injuries and only damage to the airplane, probably not.

If you are at a towered airport, the tower operator may notify the FAA, depending on the situation.

The pilot of a freshly restored Stearman learned about this the hard way when he had a wingtip strike during a ground loop. As he taxied his aircraft with a crumpled lower wingtip off the runway, the tower controller asked what happened. The pilot, angry with himself, replied he had his head in anatomically infeasible location. He was understandably upset. It was the Fourth of July, and he had been planning to give rides to people in his plane during a hangar picnic.

• READ MORE: Make Flight Reviews for CFIs Worthwhile

About an half hour later, the airport manager showed up to warn the pilot that the tower operator had notified the FAA, and a sheriff deputy was on his way to take a look at the airplane. None of us had heard of this before. The deputy was not a pilot and told us that he had been called by the FAA. He wasn’t sure why he was there, except that he was asked by the FAA to look at the airplane and talk to the pilot.

The owner of the aircraft, much calmer now, explained he was upset because he had damaged his beautiful airplane, and he regretted being terse with the controller. Fortunately the deputy understood and that was the end of it, with the exception of the aircraft owner ripping off a piece of the torn fabric of the lower wing and giving it to me with the instructions, “Tell your students to pay attention, or bad things can happen!”

I still have that piece of fabric.

The post Knowing When to Call the NTSB appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Both pilots were in their early 30s and were Polish nationals. Both held FAA private pilot certificates based on their Polish certificates. They were relative novices, with 210 hours total time between them, only 130 as pilot in command (PIC). Neither was instrument rated, and only one was legally qualified for night VFR flying. (Their FAA certificates required them to comply with the limitations imposed by their Polish ones.)

After having dinner in town, they returned to Key West International Airport (KEYW) around 8 o’clock. It was dark, the sun having set an hour and a half earlier. The moon, new two days before, was now a smiling sliver on the western horizon. By the time they boarded the airplane, it too had set.

Presumably because he was the one who had done the rental checkout, the less experienced pilot of the two, with 30 hours of PIC time, took the left seat, and his companion took the right. It was the pilot in the right seat, however, who held the night qualification.

• READ MORE: Fatal Cirrus Accident Shows That Some Knowledge Doesn’t Translate

They began their takeoff roll at 8:33 p.m. When they were airborne, the tower instructed them to make a left turn northbound, remain clear of Navy Class D airspace, and contact Navy tower for transition. “Navy” meant Naval Air Station Boca Chica (KNQX), whose airspace abuts that of KEYW.

The tower frequency for KNQX is 118.75, but the pilot read back only 118.7, followed by a pause and then the last three digits of the Cessna’s call sign, “five eight niner.” The “five” was ambiguous, but it is possible that the pilot handling the radios missed the final “five” in the Navy tower frequency. In any case, that acknowledgement was the last communication heard from the Cessna.

In the early afternoon of the following day, some pleasure boaters noticed an object floating in the water. They thought it might be a manatee and approached it cautiously, only to find that it was a human body. The water was shallow, just 7 feet deep, and perfectly clear. Parts of an airplane could be seen resting on the bottom. The site was less than 3 miles from the Key West runway. 

Accident investigators found that an airport surveillance camera had recorded the airplane’s lights as it departed. Its flight path was erratic, descending, leveling off, descending again, leveling off, and then disappearing from view.

A witness, who had been fishing from a nearby bridge and read about the accident in the newspaper the following day, reported having seen what he thought at the time was a firework but now realized might have been a red light on the airplane descending rapidly toward the water.

• READ MORE: Only Assumptions Can Be Made About What Took Down a Curtiss C-46 in Alaska

The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) attributed the accident to “the non-night-qualified pilot’s improper decision to depart in dark night meteorological conditions, which resulted in his subsequent spatial disorientation…”

A direct line from Key West to Miami bears about 055 degrees, and about half the trip is over open water. On a dark night, the danger of disorientation is great. The brightly lighted line of the Keys recedes on the right, while the dark Everglades lie ahead. Miami is a pale glow beyond the northeastern horizon. The two pilots having just returned from the Bahamas, flying over open ocean in a single-engine airplane evidently held no terrors. (They had, nevertheless, taken the precaution of wearing life jackets.)

Most likely, however, they had no idea that the main danger of a night flight over open water was not that they might have to ditch after an engine failure, it was that they would lose the horizon and fly into the water before they even realized that something was wrong.

The fact that one of them was legally qualified for night flying meant only that he had logged a certain number of hours and takeoffs and landings at night with an instructor, not that he had any experience flying at night in this particular kind of environment. In any case, the pilot with the night qualification was sitting in the right seat, and to the extent that he might have made better use of the attitude indicator, he was not in a position to do so.

This is not an unusual kind of accident. I have written in this column about many similar ones, including two Barons and a Citation that flew under control into Lake Erie immediately after taking off from Cleveland Burke Lakefront Airport (KBKL); a Lancair 550 and a Cessna 210 that crashed immediately after taking off on moonless nights in desert terrain; and a Piper Cherokee, on another island of the Florida Keys, that went into the water a couple of miles from the runway from which it had just taken off.

Note the recurrence of the phrase “taking off.” The airplanes that took off over a pitch-dark lake or desert invariably climbed only a few hundred feet before they began to bank, then the bank grew progressively steeper, and the climb became a dive. The pilots were unaware that anything was wrong. Once the lights disappear, the rest lasts a matter of seconds, or at most 2 or 3 miles.

The two Polish pilots did fine at first, while they were over the lights of Key West. It was only when they left the lights behind that the insidious effects of darkness beset them. Neither pilot had instrument flying experience beyond the hood work required for the private certificate, which bears more resemblance to an arcade game than the real sensations, physical and emotional, of piloting an airplane in total darkness.

In pilots’ careers certain dangers are bound to arise for which it is very difficult for an instructor to prepare them. Many of those dangers are associated with loss of a visible horizon, whether because of fog, clouds, or darkness.

Warnings to believe the instruments, not bodily sensations, may be memorized, emphasized, and faithfully repeated, but they are never so persuasive as the sensations themselves. One must work hard to develop the discipline to level the tilting wings of the attitude indicator despite an overwhelming impression that the instrument has failed and the airplane is still in level flight.

Unfortunately, not every airport has an ocean or large lake handy with which to impress upon the student pilot the perils of total darkness—and Warsaw is far from the Baltic Sea.

Note: This article is based on the National Transportation Safety Board’s report of the accident and is intended to bring the issues raised to our readers’ attention. It is not intended to judge or reach any definitive conclusions about the ability or capacity of any person, living or dead, or any aircraft or accessory.

This column first appeared in the March 2024/Issue 946 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Three-Mile Limit: Novice Pilots Succumb to the Perils of Total Darkness appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1958 Cessna 175 Skylark.

The Cessna 175 is a misunderstood airplane that challenged the venerable 172 briefly during the late 1950s and early 1960s by using a geared version of the Continental O-300 6-cylinder engine.

The GO-300 delivered better cruise and short-field performance by turning faster than the direct-drive version during a given phase of flight. The boost in power and speed placed the 175 between the 172 and 182 in the marketing order, filling what Cessna saw as a significant niche. The aircraft did not catch on as strongly with buyers as either the 172 or 182, though, and was dropped from the lineup within a few years.

Today the 175 is rare and obscure to many pilots but has developed a following among those who appreciate its brisk performance and typically lower price compared with the 172 Skyhawk. It remains attractive to resourceful owners  willing to adjust their techniche to the airplane’s unusual operating regime.

This Cessna 175 has 3,152 hours on the airframe and 736 hours on its Continental GO-300 engine. The panel features an Avidyne 440 IFD touchscreen GPS with WAAS, dual Garmin G5s for PFD and HSI, Appareo Stratus ESG transponder with ADS-B, GMU 11 magnetometer, GA 35 antenna, and electronic EGT and CHT display. Additional equipment includes a Reiff engine heater and LED landing and taxi lights.

Pilots who are interested in a classic Cessna that outperforms the 172 but often sells for less and is rare on the used market should consider this1958 Cessna 175 Skylark, which is available for $77,000 on AircraftForSale.

You can arrange financing of the aircraft through FLYING Finance. For more information, email info@flyingfinance.com.

• FLYING Magazine: The Advantages of Shopping for Unusual Aircraft
• Plane & Pilot: 1960 Cessna 175 Skylark N8065T
• Plane & Pilot: World’s Coolest Cessna 175 Skylark. It Has Slats!
• The Aviation Consumer: Used Aircraft Guide: Cessna 172

The post This 1958 Cessna 175 Is an Innovative, Underrated ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Well, that obviously didn’t happen. The pandemic blew up everyone’s plans, and given the obvious jeopardy to my livelihood, the loss of our adventure barely registered. And then, as the world began to open back up, New Zealand stayed locked down longer than most. It wasn’t until Oshkosh 2022, when Dawn and I ran into Matt and Jo McCaughan at the FlyInn booth, that we dusted off our travel plans.

The McCaughans are friendly Kiwi sheep and cattle ranchers hailing from central Otago on the South Island, where they also run FlyInn, billed as “the authentic NZ self fly vacation.” They are also avid cruising sailors, which quickly became our main topic of conversation. Almost as an afterthought, we told them that while we’d be busy building our hangar/apartment for the 2022-23 season, we’d come fly with them in December 2023. Our revived New Zealand adventure would be our 20th wedding anniversary gift to each other.

We flew my airline from Seattle to Auckland on November 15, staying in New Zealand’s largest city for several days. On the 19th, our good friends Brad and Amber Phillips flew in, whereupon we rented a pair of campervans and headed south. The next two weeks would have been a pretty great vacation on their own. We spent six more days on the North Island, visiting the usual “must-dos” like Rotorua, Tongariro National Park, and Wellington as well as many more out-of-the-way locales.

Crossing the Cook Strait on a typically raucous ferry ride following a 40-knot blow, we spent another eight days road tripping through the South Island. We sampled excellent wine in Marlborough, tramped the fantastic coastal trail in Abel Tasman National Park, got rained on all down the wild West Coast, and set up camp in truly epic surroundings at Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park. All throughout, both the landscapes and climate frequently reminded us of the Pacific Northwest, Idaho, and Montana.

• READ MORE: Pilot Mental Health Remains the Last Taboo in Aviation

The roads were scenic and engaging, the locals exceptionally friendly and helpful, the cities few and far in between. This is a country slightly larger than the U.K. but with only 5 million people…and 75 million sheep.

In Christchurch we returned the campers and said goodbye to the Phillips, as their busy life back home precluded them from joining the flying tour—more’s the pity. Dawn and I took an Air New Zealand ATR-72 from Christchurch to Queenstown, New Zealand’s renown adventure tourism hot spot, which is where the FlyInn tour began the next day.

Soon after we landed, Jo McCaughan emailed to say that they were rejiggering the itinerary to go to Milford Sound and Fiordland on day one, thanks to a brief weather window. This made sense. All throughout our travels, the weather had been exceptionally variable, with low ceilings and pouring rain as well as bright sunshine being encountered more days than not. It was clear that flying in New Zealand requires a fair amount of flexibility. Still, from what little I knew of Milford Sound, I got the impression that I was being thrown right into the deep end, sink or swim.

At the airport the next morning, we were joined by Matt McCaughan, longtime FlyInn instructor Nick Taylor, and North Carolinian couple Adam and Lissa Broome, our counterparts for the next eight days. McCaughan and Taylor introduced us to our rides for the week, two 180 hp Cessna 172s, registrations ZK-TRS and ZK-WAX.

For safety purposes FlyInn tends to keep the airplanes together, so we got to know the Broomes over the course of the tour. Notably, Adam circumnavigated the globe with his Beech Bonanza in 2016, making for some very interesting stories.

Dawn and I drew the eye-catching, yellow-and-blue ZK-WAX for the week and started with Matt as instructor. We began with a short hop up to Wanaka, FlyInn’s base of operations, for a coffee and chat. Sufficiently briefed, we departed to the northwest over the serrated, deep-blue ribbon of Lake Wanaka and climbed to circle striking, glacier-draped Mount Aspiring, “The Matterhorn of the South.”

• READ MORE: On the ‘Bax’ Foot: A Lifelong Writer Tackles the Spoken Word

Beyond its peak, the weather turned significantly cloudier than forecast—no big surprise there. We flew over the top for a bit, found a good hole, dropped into a wide, verdant valley, and followed the glacial, gravel-strewn Pyke River to the appropriately named Big Bay. After making a good inspection pass and landing on the broad, dark-sand beach, we went for a tramp a short way inland, where there’s a hiker’s hut and seasonal fish camp. This is a good week’s hardy walk from the nearest road, and all resupply is done via beach landing.

We soon departed over the crashing surf and turned out to sea, making our way south around a series of cloud-choked headlands. Matt duly noted St. Anne’s Point straight ahead, and then Dale Point to our left, our cue to turn into the rain-soaked entrance to world-famous Milford Sound. It looked VFR—only just. Matt noted there would likely be sunshine (albeit with a lot of wind) at the head of the fjord. I proceeded in, keeping my right wing hard against the northern wall of the gorge at Matt’s urging—the better to turn around if his promised good weather didn’t materialize. But it did, along with rainbows and a couple dozen waterfalls and steaming tourist cruise boats. It was a truly magnificent sight.

And then came the wind, streaking the head of the fjord with long ribbons of spume and giving our little 172 a good bashing. Unperturbed, Matt kept up his litany of mandatory radio position reports. I was glad he was there since it was challenging enough just flying. I turned up the Cleddau River valley and began my letdown, reversing course at a wide fork in the river to make a modified dogleg final to Runway 29 at Milford Sound Airport (NZMF).

The sea breeze was gusting at 30 knots. My landing was not pretty. It was safe and acceptable, that’s all. A short taxi later, we shut down in the shadow of a dozen tour operators’ Grand Caravans, Airvans, and Kodiaks. With the steep rock walls and silvery cascades of Milford Sound as a majestic background, it would’ve made the world’s best “Learn to Fly!” poster.

As we ate lunch, I reflected on a few things. First, Kiwi pilots appear to be pretty comfortable in marginal VFR (IFR not being very common here). Strong local knowledge of weather and terrain helps mitigate the risk, as does observing a few rules of thumb that closely mirror those that my old-school first CFI taught me as “the right way to scud-run.”

Second, there’s a lot of trust in the engine—though, admittedly, a lot of the valley floors are probably survivable in case of forced landing, with fairly stunted bush and plentiful gravel bars on the rivers.

Thirdly, the high density of world-class scenery coupled with a highly developed tourist industry make much of the New Zealand backcountry far more air-trafficked than comparable sites in the U.S., with accordingly more rigid procedures despite a relative lack of ATC facilities.

This would be a tough place for the uninitiated to go it alone—thus the appeal of an operation like FlyInn.

Departing into the maelstrom once more, we climbed over Milford Sound and ducked into the relative calm of the Arthur River valley. This impossibly scenic, waterfall-laced, glacier-carved hanging valley, traversed by the famed Milford Track, perfectly frames the 2,000-foot cascade at its head, Sutherland Falls, once thought to be the world’s tallest. It pours from what appeared to be a neat rock-walled thimble of a tarn, Lake Quill.

“Want to fly around it?” asked Matt with a wry grin. He knew I’d think this was a crazy idea, and at first glance I did. “There’s more room than it looks,” Matt said. “Just put out 20 degrees of flaps and slow to 65 knots.”

So I did, and it was absolutely spectacular, one of the neatest things I’ve done in an airplane. Once we completed our circuit, we dove out of the thimble and ZK-TRS buzzed in, and as I watched them my perspective suddenly shifted, revealing the epic scale of the landscape we were exploring. The effect was magical.

I’ve described the memorable first two hours of a weeklong tour in New Zealand, and I think everything we saw could fill a year’s worth of columns. I’ll content myself with two, cramming the balance into next month’s contribution. In the meantime, by the time you read this, my special V1 Rotate video episode, “New Zealand By Air,” should be live on FLYING’s website.

We recorded some 500 gigabytes of footage, much of it spectacular, and editing it down to 15 minutes proved to be a real challenge. There are worse problems to have.

This column first appeared in the March 2024/Issue 946 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Exploring New Zealand’s Grand Islands by Air appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

He fired up the aircraft, only to find the Continental O-300-D engine started running rough. That was as far as it went. Mission aborted. The aircraft never left the ground.

Aircraft Troubleshooting

Cessna 172 owner Corey Sampson reached out to me to discuss the engine running rough and the dark side of maintaining an aircraft: unscheduled maintenance.

The first step in the troubleshooting chain was to remove and replace (R&R) the spark plugs, as they were coming due soon. That didn’t help. The next step was to run the engine while idle, using a hand-held laser thermometer, and take the temperature of each cylinder one at a time. 

• READ MORE: Cessna 172 Maintenance Planning

One by one, the temperature readout for each cylinder measured 150 to 160 degrees Fahrenheit. The number 4 cylinder was 95 F. Cylinder number 5 was 159 F, and number 6 was back to around 95 F. 

Sampson could now perform preventative maintenance by wearing his owner/operator hat. Once troubleshooting leads beyond preventative maintenance, it is time to turn around the hat to the A&P side and begin unscheduled maintenance. 

Unscheduled Aircraft Maintenance

There is a trick to relieving pressure off the valves to remove the rocker arm while keeping enough resistance to hold them in place to pop off the rotocoil, keepers (valve locks), and springs. It was time for the rope trick.

Checking in with JD Kuti, president of Pinnacle Aircraft Engines in Silverhill, Alabama, I asked him to break down the procedure for me:

• Feed rope into the spark plug hole.
• Spin the prop until the rope holds the valve in place.
• Use the spring compressor tool to remove the keepers and valve springs.

I watched a mechanic on the internet try to pry off the valve keepers with a pocket knife. That looked like a good way to get cut to me. Back in my engine shop days, we just popped a magnet against the valve locks, and voilà, you set them free.

• READ MORE: The Daily Life of a Repair Station

Kuti mentioned a trick he has used in the past while servicing valve guides: “If you need to drop the valve into the cylinder, tie a piece of floss to the valve through the port. If I’m cleaning a guide, I normally push the valve into the cylinder and pull it out of the bottom spark plug hole to clean the valve stem too.” 

Kuti said he does not deploy the rope trick any longer, opting to pressurize the cylinder with air while the piston is at the bottom dead center (BDC).

Reamer Action Time

Sampson removed the spark plugs and fed the rope into place. Driving out the rocker shaft with a brass drift, he removed keepers and springs. It was then time to drop the valve. Taking the brass drift, he gently tapped the exhaust valve into the cylinder head. 

Special reamers like these are just the ticket to clean up the valve guides. Slowly slipping the reamer into the number 6 exhaust guide, the tool moved smoothly for approximately one-half inch, then began to drag. The reaming process is not difficult, but it is imperative to keep the tool aligned so as not to damage the valve guide.

Where Kuti held the valve with a thin line, Sampson used mechanical fingers in the top spark plug hole to maneuver the exhaust valve back into place. With a flashlight in the bottom spark plug hole; the valve was visible and could be manipulated toward the guide. 

Once in place, a magnet was inserted into the exhaust guide, contacting the tip of the valve stem, and the valve was slowly pulled back into place. Next, the valve springs and keepers were replaced, topped off with a rotocoil or upper retainer, depending on your setup.

• READ MORE: Testing the Hardware After a USM Retrofit

In aircraft maintenance, the line between preventative and unscheduled maintenance can often blur. While he had the time and the tooling available, Sampson opted to apply the reamer to all of the remaining cylinders’ exhaust valve guides as a precaution.

What causes exhaust valves to stick? 

“Heat is the primary cause of valve sticking,” according to AVweb. “High temperatures in the exhaust valve guide oxidize oil and form carbon deposits on the valve guide, and these deposits can cause the valve to stick. The most frequent reason for elevated valve temperatures is valve leakage.”

The post Servicing Cessna 172 Stuck Exhaust Valves appeared first on FLYING Magazine.