Mathematically, the term describes the shortest distance between two points on a sphere. Metaphorically, it describes the great arc of a journey that led me to this point in my aviation career—while it wasn’t a direct route, it’s the destination that matters.

My journey began with a flight at age 6 from the College Park Airport (KCGS) in Maryland. Long before I knew there was a FLYING Magazine, I was passionate about flying. The years between then and now were filled with the familiar milestones of all great odysseys–a circuitous route, complete with disappointment and triumph, missed opportunities and eureka moments, and great joy.

As this is both my first column in FLYING and our EAA AirVenture issue, I thought it might be fitting and fun to share some history of AirVenture’s past highlighting just a few projects that I brought to life on the grounds of the world’s largest airshow—the vestiges of some are still visible if you know where to look.

During my Cirrus years, and for a few years thereafter, a fully airworthy SR22 would mysteriously appear in Oshkosh at the Fox River Brewery in the outdoor dining area between the restaurant and the river—3.5 miles from the nearest airport. Back at the show, a 30-foot Cirrus control tower was designed to help visitors locate the Cirrus display from anywhere on the grounds as far away as then-Aeroshell Square.

Years later, after rebranding Columbia Aircraft, pilots flying into Wittman Regional Airport (KOSH) may have been asked by a controller to “look for the Columbia barn” with a 50-foot wide Columbia Aircraft logo painted on its roof near the RIPON intersection. There was also an exciting partnership with FLYING and Sean D. Tucker who flew a complete stock, then-Columbia 400 in an aerobatic routine at AirVenture. 

• READ MORE: The 2025 Ultimate Flying Giveaway

Beyond AirVenture, during the Great Recession, I created FLYING Magazine’s Parade of Planes. The events were designed to shorten and refine the aircraft purchase process by connecting consumers with the necessary resources to make informed decisions by leveraging the top finance company, most knowledgeable tax adviser, and strongest insurance provider.

And when it was time for Gulfstream to launch the truly revolutionary G500/G600 with its side-stick Symmetry flight deck, FLYING was the obvious choice for the dramatic six-page, double-gatefold advertisement inside the front cover showing the dynamic flight deck evolution from Gulfstream I to G500 revealed in imagery. 

Regardless of what the creative branding brainstorm may have been, I always found a way to include FLYING because it was then, as it is today, the best way to reach the aviation enthusiast.

As an aviation journalist, I’ve contributed to both FLYING and Plane & Pilot (both Firecrown media companies), written white papers on aviation technology, and served as editor-in-chief for two other aviation publications. 

For the past 25 years, my work in aviation journalism, marketing, brand management, event marketing, and business development has prepared me for this new FLYING endeavor.

There is no more prestigious title or more respected enthusiast publication with greater longevity than FLYING Magazine, and I am both thrilled and honored to be the editorial director and part of the growing Firecrown family of aviation companies.

Since 1927, FLYING has evolved to be exactly what readers wanted it to be. What hasn’t changed over time is the desire of our team to continue to be the world’s most widely read aviation publication and a knowledgeable source of essential aviation content in print and online. 

On behalf of the entire Firecrown aviation consumer group, thank you for being a FLYING reader. This is your magazine and it’s our job to help shape it into exactly what you want it to be—a trusted voice for all things aviation that engages, entertains, and educates readers about our collective passion: flying.

Thank you for taking the journey with us as we approach 100 years of serving the aviation community. 

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

The post The Great Circle Route appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

You see the airplane at the gate; it cannot be long now. Suddenly, the ramp crew starts pulling bags off the airplane, and the gate agent makes an announcement via the intercom: “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my sad duty to report that our aircraft suffered a mechanical issue and cannot make today’s flight.” Now, this is typically not an issue, just dispatch maintenance, but in the near future, it could be detrimental to your vacation.

Who is going to work on the airplane?

My colleague Michael Wildes recently penned a piece about this for FLYING, and not much has changed since. Thankfully, the industry is resourceful and constantly taking measures to correct the situation.

Avionics for the Rest of Us

Those of you who follow my column know of my passion for training the next generation of aircraft maintenance professionals. You also know that my avionics skills are on a third-grade level. No offense to third graders. The FAA mandates training for pilots and mechanics, but avionics techs is a virtual no-man’s-land.

All of this brings me back to our Skyhawk project. When we last left Corey, he was working through the idea of upgrading his avionics panel using removed serviceable material from his friend’s Saratoga. During the time spent walking through that project, Corey informed me that he would need all new wiring to go with his new gear. Enter Oasis Aviation Avionics & Maintenance, a Newnan, Georgia, aircraft maintenance facility with a new business element that just may surprise you.

Earlier this week, I met with Oasis owner and president Steve Olive, a retired Air Force colonel, and found a pleasant surprise in my own backyard. Olive and company are looking to fill the void for avionics technicians by offering an apprenticeship program. Oasis Aviation is the sponsor and pays the student. Learn Avionics LLC delivers the related training and instruction.

Oasis is selective with its candidates, as the plan is for the students to join the crew at some point. There are only two criteria: The applicant must be 18 years old and a high school graduate. The firm receives applicants from high schools in its surrounding area, the Coweta CEC Center, and Spaulding County, Georgia.

Olive outlines what traits make good avionics technicians:

• Keen attention to detail
• Touch of OCD
• They never ever give up.

The avionics technician apprenticeship program is one year or roughly 2,000 hours. Graduates can add airframe and powerplant (A&P) for another two years or 30 months. Students start by stripping wire. Soon after, they move to pinning wire, assembling a connector, and then eventually building up the wiring harnesses, like they are doing for Corey. Once complete, the team creates a custom wiring diagram for all installations. Thus far, 10 graduates have finished the program.

Apprenticeships

Apprenticeships are not new, having been around for centuries. With a majority of the media focusing on FAA Part 147 schools, apprenticeships are sometimes an afterthought. Longtime industry organization Aircraft Electronics Association (AEA) offers an apprenticeship program, but it differs from Oasis as AEA graduates are eligible for a FAR section 65.101 (a)(5)(ii) allowance for the issuance of a repairman’s certificate. While the outcome is slightly different, Oasis does use the AEA curriculum in its program. The hope is that students stay on and join the team.

The U.S. military is keenly aware of the need for its service members to transition smoothly. Given that, the Department of Defense created the SkillBridge Program. Commanders in the military allow service members to leave the military early in order to train. Olive knew of a Marine who recently went through the program and is now at West Star Aviation in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

The Georgia Department of Economic Development provides some good information on what an apprenticeship is. It describes it as “a work-based training method that combines formal instruction with on-site, occupation-related training.” There are also apprenticeship opportunities at the federal level. The U.S. Department of Labor’s (DOL) Employment and Training Administration offers ways to register for an apprenticeship. There is a tremendous amount of good intel there. Another good resource is the DOL’s ApprenticeshipUSA. I encourage you to take a look and do your research. Perhaps you know someone who could benefit from a program like the ones offered?

Growing the Tribe

The best part of my job is getting connected with like-minded people who are always seeking to help one another. The Oasis Aviation Network was created for that very purpose. I’ve told you that my strong suit is not avionics. Most aircraft maintenance technicians are either A&P or avionics skilled. Some can do both, and if you find such a unicorn, capture it. We want to study and replicate it somehow.

The Oasis Aviation Network approached small aircraft maintenance shops with an idea to expand their businesses. Did you know that you can install the radio with just an A&P? These smaller shops may not have an avionics-skilled person on staff, but they are confident in their relationship with the network and can always call upon the team for help.

Now having more than 300 network members, the Oasis Aviation Network continues to look for ways to support the aircraft maintenance industry. Members can buy products, obtain training, and receive technical support. I am going back to spend some additional time with Olive this week. I might even learn a thing or two!

The post Oasis Aviation Sponsoring Aviation Avionics Apprenticeship appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

But today I’m finally taking a day off. I’ve had an ultra-productive week, I’ll be flying for work tomorrow, and Dawn just headed to her parents’ place in South Dakota. It’s just me and my flying pooch, Piper, living the bachelor life. It’s time for a playdate to go explore those Cascade mountain strips I’ve been eyeing from high above on the CHINS5 and GLASR2 arrivals. This would ideally be done in the cool, still air of morning, but I got waylaid by another project, and it’s after noon by the time Piper and I finally depart and turn northeast. It’s not a terribly hot day, though, and we’re light, and the highest airstrip is at only 3,000 feet in elevation. The puffy cumulus over the Cascades aren’t looking too threatening—yet.

I skirt south of Paine Field (KPAE) and enter the mountains via the dramatic Skykomish River valley, with 6,000-foot peaks towering over both sides. Fifteen miles in, the town of Skykomish appears around a bend along with our first destination, Skykomish State Airport (S88): 2,000 feet of turf runway, 1,002 feet elevation, trees on both ends. The left pattern to Runway 24 makes for a tight downwind along the southern ridge and close by a granite outcropping before turning a blind base. Turning final, the runway appears again out of the trees, and I ease down a groove and land on the grass. With just Piper and I and partial fuel, I easily turn off at midfield without getting on the brakes.

Piper is a much less anxious flyer these days, but he’s still always glad to clamber out of the airplane and run his little heart out. The airport is deserted today, so I let him wander off leash while I take a look at the picnic tables and camping spots. The field is ideally set up for group camping by an EAA chapter or a gaggle of friends. The guest book reveals mostly old taildraggers like mine, the most recent some 10 days ago. There’s no reason you couldn’t take a Cessna 172 in here easily if you kept it light, but alas, many flight schools and FBOs in the area now prohibit landing at unpaved airports.

After a quick lunch, Piper and I load up again, start up, and take off on Runway 24. I fly a mile beyond town and then turn around in a wide part of the valley, climbing steeply to have plenty of altitude before approaching 4,056-foot Stevens Pass. I see the alpine lake to which Dawn and I snowshoed last winter and turn north to cross a 5,000-foot ridge into the Rainy Creek watershed. I follow it down to beautiful Lake Wenatchee and the Lake Wenatchee State Airport (27W), elevation 1,936 feet msl. As I approach, I can see the middle half of the 2,473-foot runway appears to be bare dirt and decide to do an inspection pass down Runway 9. I don’t see any big rocks, but on the next approach I touch down right at the threshold to get slow before the bare patch. Even at reduced speed, we bounce around a lot, and I can hear stones hitting the underside of the fuselage. Maybe I ought to have landed beyond the dirt—there was a good 1,000 feet of grass left. Soon after we arrive, a Cessna 182 buzzes the dusty strip and peels off into the left downwind. I film his landing, which is a dramatic plop right in the middle of the rocky zone. The hardy Skylane seems no worse for wear, and I’m soon talking to Bryce from Las Vegas. He’s flown all the way here for the Touratech Rally for adventure motorcyclists in nearby Plain, Washington. We talk dirt bikes for a bit before I eye the skies and decide it’s time to go. Those cumulus have built a good bit. They’re not ugly enough to chase us out of the mountains just yet, but Piper and I should get moving.

I purposely came into the mountains with partial gas, necessitating a fuel stop at Wenatchee’s Pangborn Memorial Airport (KEAT). From there, we climb out over Mission Ridge, dodging rain shafts. My Stratus ADS-B receiver shows some strong precipitation northeast of Mount Rainier and over the Goat Rocks Wilderness, but so far it’s staying clear of our next destination. Passing Cle Elum, Snoqualmie Pass looks very doable—that’s my backup option. As I work my way southwest, though, the weather holds. Crossing Bethel Ridge, I marvel at a fantastic ridgetop trail and file it away for a ride on my KTM dirt bike. From there, it’s a fast drop into the Tieton River valley, where Tieton State Airport (4S6, elevation 2,964 feet msl) is nestled on the shore of Rimrock Lake.

In late summer, Tieton State becomes a busy Forest Service firebase, but for now it’s quiet. The vertiginous dome of appropriately named Goose Egg Mountain lies just off the north end, making this a mostly one-way-in, one-way-out airport. The wind is nearly calm. I fly out over the lake, make a spiraling descent, and set up a dogleg approach to 2,509-foot Runway 2. There’s a decent bug-out option to the left down to about 150 feet, but below that you wouldn’t want to go around without a good bit of power. This time, speed and glide path are right on target, so I continue over the shoreline and make a wheel landing on the grass. Overall the strip is in great shape.

Tieton looks like a fantastic place to airplane camp. There’s plenty of shady parking alongside the strip, an indoor pit toilet, and nice views over the lake and mountains. It’s a short walk to the beach, where Piper frolics in the sand. For a minute, he’s a young pup on Windbird again. But now it’s 5 p.m., and those overdeveloped cumulus are getting a lot closer. I can see rain shafts cutting across the far side of the lake. Our playdate is almost over. The hourlong flight home will take us up and over White Pass, past Mount Rainier via the Skate Creek and Nisqually River drainages, and thence via Puyallup and the Tacoma Narrows. As a young pilot, this would have been a grand adventure, and now it’s all part of my backyard.

My 20th wedding anniversary is coming up, and while we’re celebrating with a monthlong trip to New Zealand later in the year, we didn’t have plans for the big day itself. When I asked Dawn what she’d like to do, she said airplane camping in the mountains. I think Tieton State Airport will be a great place to base ourselves for a few days of exploration. I’m a very lucky guy.

This column first appeared in the September 2023/Issue 941 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Playdate Provides Chance to Explore the Cascades appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Answer: This seemingly straightforward question has a complicated answer that begins with more questions: Why do you want to fly? Is it a bucket list item? Are you wanting to make a career change? Are you looking for an initial career?

When the person asking the question is a teenager, we need to take a look at their age. You can earn a glider certificate at 14, solo a powered airplane at 16, and become a private pilot at age 17. But that doesn’t mean a teen has the maturity to accept the responsibility of being a pilot. In addition, teens are notoriously overscheduled these days. If they are taking a heavy course load at school, playing a sport, or involved in a lot of extracurriculars such as band, robotics club, etc., this may not be the time to start flying lessons. They need to be able to focus on the task, and that’s tough to do when you are spread so thin. 

As flying skills are perishable, for teens seeking training in powered aircraft it is often best to schedule flight lessons a few months ahead of their 16th birthday and/or when the weather in your part of the world is best. You don’t want the training to drag out for too long. However, I have worked with teens as young as 14 for whom flying lessons were a reward for doing well in school—straight A’s will get you into the cockpit or ground school, but the teen will have to do the work once they get there. When their birthday on the calendar caught up with their training progress, they earned their certificates.

• READ MORE: Age Is Just a Number When It Comes to Flight Training

For the person seeking a career change, the question pivots to: Do you have the time and money to devote at least 10 hours a week to learning to fly? Don’t forget to factor in study time as well as commuting to and from the airport. Take a serious look at your adult responsibilities, such as simultaneously managing your present career and family obligations, before you commit.

Even if you select an accelerated program, anticipate at least two years of training before having the certifications and experience needed to be hired as a pilot.

Bucket List

If flying is simply the thing that has tugged at your heart for a long time, take consolation. There is no upper-age limit for learning to fly. For a sport pilot certificate, you can use your driver’s license in lieu of a medical exam. If you wish to be a private pilot, as long as you can meet the requirements of a third-class medical certificate, age isn’t a factor. In fact, as a retiree, you may be at the point in your life when you have the time and resources to do what you want. Many people learn to fly when they set aside their primary career and open up their world to the next thing. You could be one of them.

The post What’s the Ideal Age to Start Flying Lessons? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Earlier this week, I went up for my first flight of the year on a cold and overcast New Year’s Day. And while I always make an effort to objectively evaluate my decision making in my still-new-to-me Cessna 170, I didn’t expect to learn three new lessons and enact three new personal rules after one short flight. But that’s precisely what happened as I kicked off a new year of flying.

The first lesson took place before I’d even completed the preflight. My first clue that something was amiss occurred when I retrieved my tire pressure gauge from the small flight bag I keep in the front passenger seat. I noticed bits of shredded paper towel littering the bag. Making a mental note to continue placing my custom-cut aluminum bands around each tire to keep mice out of the airplane, I continued my preflight. 

A short time later, while carefully inspecting my tailwheel on my hands and knees, I made eye contact with the culprit. There, staring at me in the face from a small access hole at the base of the rudder, was a small brown field mouse.

A few choice selections of profanity scared it back into the fuselage. Fortunately, however, some light drumming on the side of the empennage scared it back out of the hole, and it leaped from the airplane and scurried away. A closer inspection of my flight bag connected the dots—I’d left a couple of energy bars in the bag after my last flight, and the mouse had set up camp, helping itself to the feast.

New rule No. 1: No more leaving energy bars in the airplane.

• READ MORE: Buyer Be Aware: Having Your Own Airplane Is So Worth It

Thoroughly preflighted and apparently mouse-free, I hopped in and started the engine. Because I was the only one at the airfield, I opted to take a shorter route from my hangar to the runway. This route utilizes a dirt driveway that borders a large ditch. And it wasn’t until I advanced the throttle and tested the brakes that I realized there was a gradual slope all the way from my hangar to that ditch.

Brakes locked, the airplane slid toward the ditch at a crawling pace as I willed it to come to a stop. I used every trick my lifetime of winter driving in the Great Lakes region had taught me, including releasing the brakes to obtain some directional traction, but the ditch loomed ever closer. Just as I was creating a plan to pull the mixture and at least save the prop and engine, the right main mercifully encountered a small patch of gravel and the airplane ground to a stop. 

As I only recently moved into my new hangar, I’d never taken this taxi route in the winter. Accordingly, I’d never noticed the gradual slope and treacherous ditch. It was a chilling eye-opener, and I was ultimately able to cling to the hallowed strip of gravel and proceed to the runway safely. 

New rule No. 2: No taking the short taxi route with snow or ice on the ground.

Run-up complete, I trundled my way out onto the 3,100-by-90-foot grass strip and backtaxied to the end. On the way out, I made a mental note of an icy, muddy patch in the center of the runway about 600 feet from the threshold. I’m no stranger to operating on snow at this strip, but the odd combination of 1 to 2 inches of icy snow and muddy, unfrozen soil beneath robbed me of traction and made it challenging to turn around. An old skiplane trick of full forward yoke and some short blasts of power finally brought the tail around, and I was good to go at last.

The brisk temperature rewarded me with a density altitude of around 1,500 feet below sea level. I made a mental note to brag about this to a certain California-based friend who takes every opportunity to boast about his state’s warm winter climate. My beloved McCauley seaplane prop clawed through the thick winter air, making the most of my airplane’s modest 145 hp and clearing the muddy patch with ease. 

The takeoff was uneventful, but the variable wind had developed into a healthy crosswind from the left. I kept this in mind, and on downwind, I took a step back and evaluated the situation. I was barely able to keep the airplane out of the weeds during my taxi out to the runway. Once there, I had difficulty turning around. And now I was setting up to land on a particularly slick surface with a crosswind.

Much as I wanted to spend an hour or two in the air, hammering out landing after landing, I decided not to press my luck. I was handling the hazards successfully thus far and could likely continue my pattern work safely, but doing so would expose me to an element of risk that, while not unmanageable, was not at all necessary. Leaving some power in during the flare, I made sure to bleed off as much energy as possible before touching down and did so safely and with no issues. 

Turning around was a different story. Once again, I struggled to turn around on the runway and skated my way back to the hangar, making sure to take the long route back. I was happy to call it a day and abandon the out-of-kilter risk-reward scenario in favor of some University of Michigan football in the Rose Bowl from the comfort of my couch.

New rule No. 3: No pattern work on snowy runways with a crosswind in excess of 5 knots.

Although I only logged 0.1 hours of flight time, it was a particularly educational flight. Best of all, with the exception of a couple of energy bars and a shredded paper towel, there was no property damage to contend with. That’s a win no matter how you chalk it up, and with that, the day of new rules was more successful than any my sister and I had experienced in our household years ago.

The post Making Personal Rules appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

At least that’s based on the response we had to my recent Thanksgiving “View From Above” installment, in which I reflected on several recent flights that were meaningful. At the end of it, I asked readers to share their own stories. Here is a trio of them.

Dear Julie…

“I read your excellent article with a smile. Having just turned 59 (a fact that truly shocks me), your quips about changes as we age rang deep and true. 

“This year my wife and I fulfilled a dream by moving to an airpark (T25 in Texas). We met at an airport, were married at an airport, and now we live at an airport. 

“In doing so, we had to juggle moving both of us, two cars, two large spoiled dogs, and eventually two airplanes from Chicagoland to rural Texas. 

“The flight down here in my Sonex was an exercise in planning, flexibility, patience, and trust. And with each leg, I was reminiscing on this gift of flight we are granted. I built the Sonex and this was the biggest adventure we have tackled. 

“My wife Brenda flew her Champ “Charlotte” down separately – with less than 100 hours total time. She learned to fly in her, a hand-prop taildragger with minimal instruments. 

“I am truly thankful for each and every flight I make. Looking out at the Sonex wings, I think about building them with my wife. I think about the years I dreamt of flying but had to scratch and claw to earn the privilege. 

“Most of all, I think of the freedom we have and how rare and precious it is in this world. 

“Aviation has brought so much to my life. I’ve met great people, experienced incredible adventures, and hope to do so for a very long time. 

“Blue skies—Robbie Culver.”

Thankful for the 150

Another reader chimed in with his fond memories of flying an airplane near and dear to my heart too: the Cessna 150. Dear Julie, he wrote…

“…Appreciated your column. Grateful that in my early ‘60s I can still work as a pilot, see the world…and then, fly GA when I’m home. Just sold my trusty 150 (thankful I could still boost myself up on the strut!) last week. [The] morning of the sale I had to do one last demo. The buyers’ friend was test-flying it. But at the end I asked to fly her back. A magical morning, and a textbook-perfect crosswind landing. 

“To close the book on the little plane like that seemed perfect. She’s going on to train her new owners. But [I’m] thankful for all the smiles she gave this ‘heavy iron’ pilot, and the chance to part ways with yet another smile. 

“Blue skies—Scott Grillo.”

Another Sonex Mission

A third entry came via my LinkedIn post on the topic, with a bonus video, from Bryan Cotton:

“Great article! I was thankful to get my 87-year-old father up in the Sonex Waiex that my son and I built. This was last May. Due to age-related mobility issues it was a challenge—I’m glad I didn’t wait. A short flight for me solo this morning, too, and I was thankful for that also.”

The video can be viewed here.

Thank you to those who shared stories…and keep them coming! As we fly through this season we could all use a little cheer. Send me a note at: julie@flying.media.

The post Pilots Share Their ‘Gift’ Flights appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

A normal sequence started on day one at 10:30 p.m. in Charleston, West Virginia, flying east to Baltimore, Maryland, then back west to Martinsburg, West Virginia, then further west, ending in Cumberland, Maryland, at 3:30 a.m. the next morning. At 11:30 a.m. on day two, I would fly passenger runs until 9 p.m., then at 9:30 p.m., pick up the airmail run back to Charleston, finishing up around 1:30 a.m. on the third day. At every stop, I had to unload and reload 1,600 pounds of mail and somewhere find time to check the weather and get something to eat.

This was all-weather, single-pilot flying. You didn’t cancel an airmail run—you flew.

One night, on the Baltimore to Charleston leg, I had an exceptionally heavy load of mail, so I elected to carry less fuel than normal. The weather was forecast to be good VFR at Charleston, so I had no problem with this fuel load. However, when I arrived in the Charleston area, it was (in the old sequenced teletype-style report format) W0X0F, which means “Indefinite, Ceiling Zero, Sky Obscured, Visibility Zero in Fog.” I got the weather in Huntington, West Virginia, and Cincinnati, Ohio—Huntington was down too, but above minimums, and Cincinnati was good VFR. I figured if I flew that direction, I would arrive in Cincinnati with about 15 minutes of fuel, so I chose to fly on to Huntington.

As I continued westbound, passing over the Charleston VOR, Charleston Approach informed me the visibility had just come up to a mile. They then gave me a 180-degree turn back towards the airport, where I could see that the departure end of Runway 23 was clear but the approach end was still covered in fog. They also informed me that this was closing back down pretty fast, and by the time I could get vectored for the approach, it could very easily be zero visibility again. What could I do to get safely and legally in with only 1-mile visibility? The contact approach.

I was only 4 miles from the airport when they cleared me for the contact approach to Runway 5. Fortunately, I had already reduced power and extended the gear and flaps, lining up on the runway and slowing down to get the rest of the flaps out. One steep descent and landing later, I was safely on the ground in Charleston. As I was taxiing in, the visibility dropped rapidly, and the tower informed me that the reported visibility had just sunk to zero again. As I was taxiing the aircraft from the APO (Airport Post Office) to parking, ground control informed me that Huntington had a severe thunderstorm earlier that night, which had knocked out their lighting. I would have arrived at Huntington and not been able to land. Thanks to a momentary break in the fog and the contact approach, I was able to deliver the mail into Charleston instead.

After this incident, I vowed to never put myself in a situation where I did not have enough fuel for other alternatives, and it changed the way I looked at alternate airports—for example, Beckley, West Virginia, sits at a higher altitude and is less susceptible to fogging in. A knowledge of what the FARs said about what I could do was also important.

On another night, flying from Baltimore to Charleston, I was over Elkins, West Virginia, at 10,000 feet msl, and had been experiencing light to moderate icing. I changed altitudes three times to try to get out of it. After having to cycle the wing deicing boots multiple times, I noticed that the aircraft was not regaining speed like it normally would. Hearing the loud banging of ice sliding off the propellers and hitting the fuselage told me that the propeller deicers were working normally. There is only one deicing light, on the left wing, and it was pitch dark outside, so I thought to get my flashlight and shine it on the rightwing. There was almost an inch of ice on that wing: The deicing boot had failed.

I knew I was in trouble and thought about descending, but I realized that would be an irreversible decision—and I could use my altitude to keep my airspeed up if I had to. My airspeed was stabilized at 150 mph (about 130 knots). I thought, ‘OK, she is flying good, so this is a good airspeed and I can get the gear down at this speed.’ I did not know how much ice was on the tail, so lowering flaps would probably have not been a good idea.

I informed ATC of my problem and was vectored onto the ILS Runway 23 at Charleston. I traded my altitude to keep airspeed up and got the runway in sight about 5 miles out. I put the gear down on short final and kept my airspeed at 150, flaring out over the numbers and getting it stopped before I ran off the cliff on the departure end. I found out from the mechanics that with the rain in Baltimore, when I tested the boots before takeoff, some of that water got sucked inside the boot through a pinhole, and this later froze the valve closed, not allowing any air into the boot to inflate it. With this incident, I learned that instead of just reacting, fly the airplane first then think things through carefully so you can make the right decisions.

One other night I was flying from Martinsburg to Cumberland at 3 a.m. I had 1,000 pounds of mail in the back, and it was my last leg of the night. About 30 miles out, the manifold pressure on my right engine went from 30 inches to 23 inches—I had lost the turbocharger. To me, there were three possibilities: 1. The turbocharger had suffered an internal failure; 2. The wastegate had failed; 3. The exhaust manifold had failed.

Well, one and two were not too bad, but number three was, and it would be pumping 1,800-degree-Fahrenheit air into the engine compartment. It took me all of about five seconds to think about this before I shut the engine down. The only approach at that time was a circle-to-land VOR approach to an airport surrounded by mountains and it was night. On the approach, I broke out of the clouds at about 300 feet above minimums (about 1,500 feet agl) and was able to see the runway lights about 5 miles out. I was then able to set up a normal base-to-final turn and land safely at Cumberland. This taught me the importance of knowing my aircraft systems and how they worked so that I could act accordingly. Also, I learned the importance of situational awareness, knowing where I was and what was underneath me.

In more than 30 years and 25,000 hours of flying NAMC YS11s, Douglas DC-9s and DC-8s, and Boeing 767s as a freight dog, I know the unexpected and unplanned will happen: unforecast weather, mechanical failures, even traffic. I learned how to deal with these things by just stopping and thinking first and applying all of the above lessons learned.

This article was originally published in the December 2022/January 2023 Issue 933 of FLYING.

The post Lessons Learned From Flying the Mail appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I shared this knowledge with one of the CFIs I trained, who was dismayed by the performance of a private pilot seeking renter privileges at the school. The would-be renter pilot had earned their certificate some four months earlier, but according to the CFI who administered the renter checkout, the would-be renter pilot did not fly to the level of their certificate.

The renter pilot claimed to fly a tailwheel airplane on a weekly basis, but as that aircraft was going into annual inspection, the renter pilot was looking at options to keep flying.

The FBO-dictated rental checkout involved an open-book test and a flight of at least one hour, which included air work and multiple takeoffs and landings—and, since the renter was new to the airport, a review of the published VFR arrival and departure procedures.

According to the CFI who administered the checkout, the pilot seemed to have forgotten how to use the rudder, the checklist, and had to be prompted to perform clearing turns. Much of the checkout flight was remedial.

Fortunately, the renter pilot had a good attitude and recognized the rust, and proceeded to sign up for another dual instructional flight. The renter explained they had good intentions to stay proficient upon earning the private certificate, but had become somewhat lazy and the flights had deteriorated into $100 hamburger trips to a particular airport and a few laps in the pattern.

This happens to all of us. To keep and build your skills, you need to have a plan, and you need to stretch your skills from time to time.

Add to Your Adventures

After you pass the private pilot check ride, there will be an adjustment, as you don’t have the pressure to study nightly and fly multiple times a week. It’s okay to make time for other things, but to protect that investment, set aside time for aviation. It could be a two-hour flight that includes a trip to the practice area and back with multiple takeoffs and landings, sitting down to plan that bucket-list flight, reading an aviation publication, or online shopping for an airplane—you can dream, can’t you?

More often than not, finances determine how much most of us fly. To stretch your resources, research the idea of joining a flying club as they are often less expensive than renting from FBOs. Flying clubs are also good alternatives when the FBOs limit aircraft rental to their clients who are actively training for a certificate or rating.

Make the flying hours count. Very few people go through the trouble and expense of earning a private pilot certificate just to do laps in the pattern. Instead, create a list of flying experiences you want to have—like landing at a mountain strip near a lake—and figure out how to make that happen. Take that mountain flying course offered by the local flight school, look into tailwheel training (in the event that airplane that caught your eye has conventional landing gear), make plans to attend the next air fair or fly-out breakfast or lunch—there are lots of options.

If your state has an airport passport program, take advantage of that. Find out which airports have the best restaurants, museums, or interesting hangars, terminals, or public art. Visit them and get that selfie for your social media.

Look for flights that will strengthen your skills in addition to adding time to your logbook.

Instead of planning flights that keep you away from controlled airspace (sadly, many CFIs teach this technique to private pilot applicants) instead, consider interacting with ATC and getting clearance to fly through the airspace if appropriate. Ask for the transition through the Charlie or Delta—if they say no, you just go over or around.

What About Flying as a Career

If the private pilot certificate is your first step on what you hope is a long career as a professional pilot, start building your cross-country hours toward the all-important airline transport pilot certificate. Make a list of airports to visit. If you are enrolled in a Part 141 program, the airports you are allowed to fly to for cross-country experience may be restricted—they will have a list.

If you are training under Part 61, this restriction doesn’t exist, just make sure the distance to the airport as measured by plotter and paper sectional meets the metric for a cross-country flight.

If you have the resources, don’t be afraid to travel to another part of the country or even the world where you can build time and get experience you cannot get at home. For example, if you are based in a part of the world where blue skies and sunshine are the norm, find a location where they have a variety of weather so you can log that all-important instrument time in actual meteorological conditions.

If you want to pursue your instrument rating, and you don’t have the money or time to work on it just yet, volunteer to be the safety pilot for a pilot practicing IFR approaches in VFR conditions. You might even want to log some dual with a CFII and, while on an IFR flight plan, go in and out of the clouds just so you can see what that experience is like.

Seek Out Challenging (to You) Airports

There’s a reason you learned how to do short-field takeoffs and landings. Find a runway that requires them—but if you are renting an aircraft from a school or FBO, double check to be sure there isn’t a limitation on runway length. Some have the caveat: “operations from airports with runways less than 2,200 feet with instructor only.”

If you have done most of your flying at non-towered airports, head to a towered airport. If most of your flying is at a towered airport, head to a non-towered facility. Those radio skills need to be kept sharp too.

The Round Robin

The round-robin flight is where you fly to several airports and return to the original place of departure. If most of your training took place at a towered airport, do a round-robin flight of non-towered airports—they don’t have to do a full cross-country.

One of my best learners has a favorite loop where he flies from non-towered Pierce County/Thun Field (KPLU) north to Renton Municipal (KRNT), a towered Class D, performs a touch and go then heads west to towered King County International (KBFI), for another touch and go, then to Tacoma Narrows (KTIW) for a touch and go, transitions across the McChord Air Force Base (KTCM) and back to KPLU. The flight takes about two hours and it’s very busy—and a lot of fun. I have used this flight or a variation of it as a metric for my learners who are preparing for check rides. I am supposed to be “in toad mode” (quiet as a toad) during the flight. If they can stay ahead of the airport and the radio, they are ready to meet the examiner.

Look for the Best Views

Pretty much every place has a ‘cool thing to see from the air.’ Take advantage of your wings and go up for the best view.

There may be that farm with the totem pole on it. That house that looks like a castle. The beachfront property with the remains of a shipwreck visible at low tide, the forest that becomes a riot of color in the fall, the tulip fields blooming in the spring, and so on.

You worked hard to get that pilot certificate. Make the most of it.

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The RPS, which runs about 3.5 hours, is a PowerPoint-driven interactive lecture that uses scenarios to refresh a pilot’s knowledge and decision-making skills. AOPA provides a scenario guide and reference materials for the participants. The seminars are often sponsored by aviation organizations or flight schools. The latter often have CFIs in attendance because the RPS can fulfill the ground requirement for a flight review—leaving the CFIs to handle the flying portion.

Teaching ground school or a seminar can be very challenging because the class is made up of learners with varying levels of interest, learning styles, and capabilities. The instructor’s job is to keep the pace of the class so no one is left behind. That can be difficult when you have a finite number of hours for the course, such as 40 hours in one month. How you present is very important. The good instructors use the slides as jumping-off points for teaching. The bad ones just read the slides off the screen, and it is so boring it could put fish to sleep.

This is probably why some folks walk into the seminar with an expression of pure dread on their faces. Perhaps they have suffered through boring ground schools taught by a CFI who didn’t either didn’t really know the material or thought reading out of the book verbatim was teaching.

The Two Types of CFIs

If you choose to become a CFI, you will look back on your training and realize you had two kinds of CFIs: those who taught you to teach, and those who taught you what not to be. You can learn to fly from both, but only one will teach you how to teach.

There are CFIs who are little more than self-loading ballast, or who cancel at the last minute because they have an opportunity to go fly the twin, or are so insulting and unkind you are reasonably certain you know what happened to Rosemary’s baby.

We all have them. We might even be them on an off day.

On the other side of the coin, there are the CFIs who are fun to fly with, who are remembered fondly, and are recommended by former clients because learning has taken place. These are the CFIs you learn best from and pick up techniques that you will eventually use with your learners. In short, they are your mentors.

I saw three of my mentors at the NWAC.

The first was Kevin Henderson, who in 2004 hired me at a Seattle-area flight school. Kevin was in the RPS as part of his flight review. I told him it was his fault I was there because he was the one who persuaded me to try teaching the flight school seminars and ground schools as a way to perfect the craft. Once I got my instructional legs under me, I found I enjoyed the classroom as much as the cockpit. And when the instructor enjoys teaching, often the learners enjoy learning.

The second mentor I encountered was Shauna Clements, one of the CFIs who trained me for my initial CFI. What I remember most about Shauna, who now flies Boeing 737s for Alaska Airlines, is her compassion and communication skills. There was one day—a particularly bad day for me in the airplane—that made me wish I had pursued a more traditional hobby, like needlepoint or collecting snow globes.

In hindsight, I see that it was overtraining. I was frustrated and angry at myself when we landed. We shut down the airplane, and there was a tense moment of silence in the cockpit, neither one of us moving, then Shauna softly uttered, “Talk to me, Goose.” For the unfamiliar, the line is from the original Top Gun, and I submit it is one of the most formidable tools in the CFI arsenal to reach a frustrated learner. I have used it many times with great success.

Last but not least was the encounter with CFI extraordinaire Dennis Cunneen, who was there with his adult son, Sean, who is also a CFI. I have known Dennis and his lovely wife Judith for more than 25 years. She is in my Ninety-Nines group. Dennis has been a flight instructor since before there was color television. I have learned much from him. For example, when working with a teenage learner, insist that the teenager, not their parents, make the appointments for flight lessons.

“Flying is a grown-up activity, they have to be responsible enough to make the appointments and keep them,” Dennis told me after I was stood up by a 17-year-old who decided it would be more fun to hang out with his buddies than keep his flight training appointment.

For many years Dennis was the man in charge of a local flying club. He was meticulous and careful about how many members could be in the club so that it didn’t become too difficult to schedule an airplane. The reason people join the club, he told me, was because they can’t rent an airplane from the local FBO for fun, and the FBO only rents to active students. The ratio of club members to aircraft is critical.

We flew together several times. Dennis was an instructor in the U.S. Air Force, and we spoke the same language. I will never forget the smile on his face when I briefed the ILS 17 into Tacoma Narrows Airport (KTIW) out loud using the USAF-issued acronym MARTHA. (Missed approach, Approach type and weather, Radio frequencies and radials needed, Time, Heading when on final, and Altitude on final.) 

• Read More: Knocking the Rust Off Your IFR Skills

He recommended me to learners, and I helped him get one of his clients up to speed on a Garmin G1000, as the flight school I was working at had a Redbird FMX with a G1000 panel.

The last time I flew with Dennis was in 2019. He needed a flight review. Mine was coming up as well, so we planned a day when we could do two flights—one for him, and one for me, and switch off CFI duties. I had never done a flight review for another CFI before, especially not one with more time than I had. Although it was not required, we switched seats when it was my turn to fly because it had been so long since either one of us was in the left seat. 

We did a lot of landings, as Dennis noted CFIs don’t land very often, because their learners do the flying. When he flew I asked him to talk through the maneuvers so I could pick up some pointers. I did the same, and I asked for a critique to help me improve.

When a learner is presenting me with a challenge, Dennis is one of the first people I call on. I often address him as “Sensei” or “Obi Wan,” and he addresses me as “Grasshopper.” There is often a respectful bow involved.

He has a sense of humor too. A few years back we encountered each other at Pierce County Thun Field (KPLU), a non-towered airport in Pierce County, Washington. Dennis had come in to get a case of oil for the club airplanes from the pilot supply shop. I was working with an instrument candidate in a Cessna 172. He loaded the oil into his airplane and taxied out ahead of us. We finished our runups at about the same time. He radioed, asking if he could go ahead of us. I said yes, as there was still one thing my learner had to do. Dennis lined up on the runway, and just before he added power, he got on the radio and intoned, “Stay strong to the Force, young one.”

This impressed my learner, who thought it very cool that his teacher had a teacher. I explained that it takes a village to raise a pilot. Start building your village now.

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