On the spectrum of popularity, various aircraft types ebb and flow from decade to decade, and the most sought-after models become easy to spot. Cessna 170s and Carbon Cubs are currently among the most desirable types, and while their popularity and reputation are not necessarily undeserved, the resulting prices often stretch out of reach for many.

Less obvious are the underappreciated and undervalued airplanes that hide in the less-traveled corners of classified listings, and one that presently seems to be lurking there is the Stinson 108. The 108 is a four-place, steel-tube-and-fabric 1940s-era taildragger powered by a variety of engines. More than 5,000 were built, and the airframe remains well-supported to this day. We examine here its strengths and weaknesses, as well as explore how the 108 ranks as an approachable aircraft.

Model History

The 108 was first offered in 1946, and a total of 5,261 production aircraft were built through July 1948. Four primary subtypes were available: the 108 (or “straight 108”), 108-1, 108-2 and 108-3.

The “straight 108” was the initial model. It came equipped with a 150 hp Franklin engine and a gross weight of 2,150 pounds. The 108-1 saw an increase in gross weight to 2,230 pounds. The 108-2 came equipped with a 165 hp Franklin engine and bungee-based rudder trim.

The 108-3 was the first model that differed visually. The tail was increased in size and stood a foot taller than the preceding models. Unfortunately, the rudder itself was only slightly enlarged, and many pilots complain that the 108-3 is more difficult to handle in crosswinds and while taxiing in windy conditions. Rudder trim was provided via a trim tab, and the gross weight grew to 2,400 pounds.

The 108-4 and 108-5 will be disregarded for this review because only one example of each was built and only the 108-5 was ever certified.

Two trim levels were offered. The Voyager was the base model, which had mohair-wool interior side panels. The “Flying Station Wagon” came with wood interior panels that resembled the “woody” cars of the era and added a structurally reinforced rear floor that raised the weight capacity from 350 to 600 pounds. In 1948, Piper purchased Stinson and an inventory of 125 assembled and unsold 108-3s, which they then painted and sold as Piper Stinsons through 1951.

Market Snapshot

It has been said that every Bellanca Viking costs $150,000. The implication is that you’ll spend that amount in one of two ways: either in the form of repairs, making an inexpensive example safe and airworthy, or in the form of purchasing a pristine model in the first place. To a certain degree, the same logic can be applied to the Stinson 108.

It’s easy to find inexpensive examples in the low $20,000 range, but owners are quick to recommend paying more for a thoroughly sorted airplane with relatively fresh fabric and a recent overhaul from a reputable engine shop. The higher acquisition price can be difficult to stomach, but many have discovered the hard way that it’s costlier to individually tackle all of the issues that make an inexpensive model that much more affordable. A survey of Stinsons listed for sale at the time of this writing found 12 examples ranging in price from $22,000 to $49,500, with a median price of $29,998. All were equipped with Franklin engines, though one airplane with the Lycoming O-360 conversion did previously sell for just over $60,000.

Many 108s have metalized fuselages, eliminating fabric entirely. While the prospect of never having to replace costly fabric is enticing, the metal conversions reportedly create a louder cabin environment and are also a bit heavier, which reduces the useful load. Like any older tailwheel aircraft with steel tubing, the aft longeron tubing should be closely inspected for any signs of rust prior to purchase. Likewise, the aluminum wing spars should be carefully inspected for signs of corrosion.

Engine Options

Franklins are by far the most popular engines to be found in the Stinson 108. Named for their rated horsepower, the 150 and 165 are the most common, with a 1,200-hour TBO. The more powerful 220 has a 1,500-hour TBO, and the relatively rare 180 has a 2,000-hour TBO.

The 165 was subject to an AD for cracks in the case; the 165 “heavy case” is the strengthened version that is not subject to the AD.

The Franklin engine can be a blessing for the buyer if the engine has been maintained by a Franklin expert. The unfamiliarity of the engine tends to scare many prospective owners away, which reduces the airplane’s value accordingly. Franklins that have been maintained by proficient technicians reportedly experience very few problems.

But that lower resale value becomes a curse when selling a Stinson, and a Franklin that’s maintained like a Continental or Lycoming will likely experience constant issues. Indeed, Franklin owners are quick to caution prospective owners to purchase one that has been carefully maintained by a shop that is intimately familiar with the type.

Check Out More: Approachable Aircraft

The availability of engine parts such as crankshafts can occasionally be a challenge, but with the dedication of companies such as franklinparts.com, even the most difficult- to-source parts can be found at prices comparable to Continental and Lycoming parts. Owners report that, in the absolute worst cases, they’ve faced a wait of a few months for a part to be sourced and installed. A hassle, to be sure, but the inconvenience is somewhat balanced by the relatively low acquisition cost of these Franklin-equipped airplanes.

Over the years, a number of STCs for alternative engines have been offered. Most Stinson owners agree that the Lycoming O-360 and Continental IO-360 are the most desirable engines, primarily because of their higher power, light weight, and the ease of finding parts and service. Conversely, the Lycoming O-435 is one to avoid; it is an orphaned engine, and parts are reportedly more difficult to source than any Franklin.

Flight Characteristics

While reviewing the obscure Miles Aerovan, writer David Ogilvy once reflected, “The absence of much structure in the front of the cockpit was a mild discomfort to an imaginative mind.” Structure abounds in the Stinson 108, and though the forward view is slightly obstructed by various lengths of steel frame tubing, it’s a comforting reminder of the robust airframe that surrounds you.

Perhaps because of the Stinson’s Detroit origins, the interior is reminiscent of a classic automobile. Many sport classy, art-deco-era instrument panels with side windows that slide back, providing a healthy blast of fresh air, and the woody-style side panels that adorn the interior of 108s in Flying Station Wagon trim.

Like many Piper elevator-trim systems, the 108 uses an overhead crank. And like those Pipers, there’s a trick to remembering which way is nose up and which is nose down; when the knob passes over the left seat from front to back, it’s nose up, and when it passes over the left seat from back to front, it’s nose down.

The 108 wing is versatile: It can carry a lot of payload, or it can provide great short-field performance at lower weights. With a single occupant and half tanks, expect takeoff ground rolls in the 500-foot range with the 165 hp Franklin, and count on landings shorter than that.

Takeoff performance suffers at maximum takeoff weight, increasing to around 2,500 feet to clear a 50-foot obstacle. But in exchange, most 108s will provide a useful load of 900 to 1,000 pounds. Speed varies by engine. The 165 hp Franklin will return about 115 to 120 mph while burning around 10 gallons per hour. More-powerful engines greatly enhance takeoff-and-climb performance but only increase cruise speed by 10 to 20 mph.

Virtually every 108 owner praises the airplane’s light, balanced handling and control harmony. Stalls are docile and amount to a mush with plenty of tactile warning and no discernible break or wing drop. Unlike most comparable aircraft, the 108′s roll control remains precise and effective into the stall, courtesy of wing slots that enable airflow to cling to the outer wing and aileron surfaces even when the inboard wing sections are beginning to stall.

Flaps are extended via a manual floor-mounted lever. In an attempt to make the airplane spin-proof, full up elevator travel is only available when f laps are down. When the flaps are up, a tab on the flap lever itself limits the maximum up elevator to approximately 9 degrees less than full up travel.

Firm landings are softened by the 108′s plush suspension design. Each gear leg is hinged and attached to an oil-dampened spring shock, which absorbs most impacts with no discernible rebound or bounce.

Ownership Experience

Despite being a 76-year-old design, the 108 is remarkably well-supported today. Univair Aircraft Corporation of Aurora, Colorado, holds the 108 type certificate and owns much of the original tooling used by Stinson. Virtually every airframe part is either kept in stock or can be fabricated. Owners of the 108 also enjoy an active owner community, primarily in the form of the International Stinson Club. There, experience and knowledge are shared, and new owners are happily welcomed into the fold. Airworthiness directives are few and straightforward. Only about five apply to the airframe, and most involve one-time fixes.

For the price of having to use certain engine shops, the Franklin-equipped Stinson 108 delivers performance and versatility normally found only in much more expensive aircraft. The unique engines provide discounted ownership of a capable four-place taildragger with outstanding load-carrying ability and short-field flexibility.

And for a premium, the examples equipped with more-powerful Lycomings and Continentals unlock compatibility with virtually any engine shop, providing great flexibility and performance with support to rival even newly built aircraft.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Approachable Aircraft: Stinson 108 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Is there any way to thank a friend for inviting you to ride in a Boeing B-29 Superfortress—and even in the “candy” bombardier’s seat?

After realigning my dropped jaw and babbling, “Oh, gosh, yes,” I blathered on with: “Really? You’re sure? You’re not kidding? But, David, how can I even begin to thank you?” And then I hung up and began obsessing about what to wear (yes, really) and what I could do to even remotely show my appreciation.

So, I unearthed an old jumpsuit and some aviator-style jodhpurs and then baked my best sourdough bread.

The already famous Doc was delivered to the US Army in 1945, five months before another B-29, Enola Gay, dropped the atom bomb on Hiroshima, Japan. The terrible death toll from the Hiroshima and Nagasaki missions was acknowledged as necessary to accelerate the Japanese surrender, saving many more lives and ending World War II.

For the next 10 years, Doc and a few sister B-29s—the Seven Dwarf squadron—flew military radar-calibration flights and towed gunnery targets. Then Doc was parked in the desert at China Lake, California, destined for an ignoble end as a target for naval-aviator bomb training.

Fortunately, the aspiring naval aviators weren’t all that great at hitting their target because, although wounded and forlorn, Doc survived.

Then, 32 years later, a man named Tony Mazzolini found the airplane in the Mojave and spent 10 years working through government red tape to rescue the distressed old bomber. When the deal was finally done, Mazzolini and his team realized that it would be impossible fly it out because of its “war wounds” and having sat, abandoned, for 42 years in the desert.

It took a couple of years for volunteers to disassemble and put sections of Doc on flatbed trailers, but by 1988, it was back home in Wichita, Kansas, in the same hangar from which it first rolled off the Boeing assembly line more than 50 years before. Then began the daunting process of restoration—repairing, rebuilding and reassembly.

The project got a welcome boost in 2013, when a group of Wichita aviation enthusiasts and business leaders, led by retired Spirit AeroSystems CEO Jeff Turner, formed Doc’s Friends, a nonprofit group with enough volunteers and money to see the project through to completion. It first flew in 2018, and by the following year, Doc—one of only two surviving airworthy B-29s—was touring the country from its Wichita base.

I can’t begin to describe the thrill of flying in Doc—the sound of those Wright 3350s (I removed my headset on takeoff to get the full impact of that glorious roar), the view from that bombardier’s seat in the nose, and the chill of peering through the Norden bombsight with my finger on the bomb release button. I “took out” a dam on the Ohio River while thinking of the 1945 bombardier, sitting in that seat and peering through that bombsight.

We had another “virtual passenger” on board—Cincinnatian Herb Heilbrun, who would soon celebrate his 100th birthday. Herb piloted 35 B-17 combat missions with the 15th Air Force in Foggia, Italy, and the Cincinnati Warbirds have celebrated their honorary member by sending his US flag aloft with its special logbook showing time in everything from a B-17 to the F-22 Raptor and now the B-29. Herb’s WWII bomber missions were accompanied by a P-51 squadron of Tuskegee Airmen, and famously, he met one of these “Red Tail” squadron pilots at a 1997 reunion in Cincinnati. They became friends and, comparing logbooks, found that John Leahr, had indeed accompanied Herb on at least two missions. Incredibly, they learned they had attended the same grade school and found a photo of themselves in the same third grade class—but segregated.

After the glorious 30-minute flight, we landed and taxied to the ramp where another group of 11 was waiting to board for the second flight. These, I learned, were all Cincinnati police officers.

Read More from Martha Lunken: Unusual Attitudes

When Doc was scheduled to come through Cincinnati, on the way to the Arsenal of Democracy flight in Washington, D.C., David Wiser and his wife, Elizabeth, bought all the seats on two flights. It costs $3,600 an hour to operate this magnificent and rare warbird; here’s David’s reply when I asked him about this incredibly generous gift:

“Martha, I come from a family of Chicago police officers and firemen—uncles, cousins, you name it. I’ve seen firsthand what they do and how they do it, and I have tremendous respect and admiration for who they are. These men and women in blue and their families, across the country, sacrifice a great deal every day so the rest of us can feel safe in our homes and on the streets.

“So, Elizabeth and I wanted to do something to show our respect, our admiration and our undying gratitude for the men and women who wear the badge every day, for us. We wanted to let them know there are people out here…who know what they do and truly value them.

“Why the Doc B-29 experience? Well, first, with only two operating B-29s left, there are very few who can experience this flight, which makes it so special, and special people deserve special experiences. Second, as a pilot, I know when you are in the air, you can leave behind—if only for 30 minutes—the craziness that exists 3,000 or 35,000 feet below. These officers have earned some time where they can put the craziness aside. Third, when we talk about loving or honoring someone, we talk about ‘lifting them up.’ There’s no better way to honor ‘blue’ than to ask our friends at Doc to lift up 11 of our officers inside the aircraft that literally won the war for the US exactly 75 years ago. And last, the 18-, 19- and 20-year-old young men who flew these B-29s on bombing runs in the Pacific and the far east in 1945 were among the most courageous human beings the United States has produced in our 244-year history. And we think those serving in law enforcement are cut from the same cloth as our war heroes and veterans.”

Doc left the next day for the Arsenal of Democracy flyover in Washington, D.C., commemorating the 75th anniversary of the end of WWII. Unfortunately, weather grounded the planned flight of 100 WWII airplanes over the National Mall. But somehow, Doc succeeded in getting honorary air boss Lieutenant Colonel Bob Vaucher, 101 years old, on board for a marvelous flight over Manassas, Virginia.

Mission accomplished.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post The B-29 “Doc,” David, Herb and the Cops appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

If you enjoy watching airplanes, especially any of the quickly declining global fleet of jumbo jets, Muhammad Ali International—the old Standiford Field (KSDF)—in Louisville, Kentucky, is an excellent place. The home of UPS, KSDF offers the opportunity to see large Boeings—747s, 757s and 767s—as well as Airbus A300s and McDonnell Douglas MD-11s operating day and night. With slightly more than 175,000 takeoffs and landings annually, most of them air carrier, a light-aircraft pilot operating through KSDF needs to be alert on the ground and in the air for these wake-turbulence producers.

Parallel Approaches

Note 2 offers pilots a serious piece of information as they approach Runway 17 Left: An airliner might be shooting an approach to the parallel 17 Right—referred to as “simultaneous approaches”—bringing with it the need to be alert to the wind and the location of the heavy aircraft to avoid wake turbulence. The note also reminds pilots to be certain they’re looking at the correct runway when they do break out on the approach to 17 Left. With a strong west wind, the aircraft’s nose would crab into the wind and possibly aim at 17 Right. Pilots should also not be surprised to see another airplane off their right as close as 3,000 feet away, lined up for the right side.

GPS Required

Even if the pilot plans to use only the ILS components of this procedure, an “RNAV 1-GPS” is required to reach the TORAC waypoint in the missed approach, should it be needed.

How Low Can You Go?

Approach minimums are important to review so pilots will understand the distance between them and the ground if they don’t break out until at minimums. Common ILS minimums are 200 feet agl and half a mile. That means that even though your altimeter reads 699 feet at the decision altitude, the airplane will be just 200 feet above the ground. Understanding this will help correlate the reported ceilings on an ATIS, AWOS or ASOS with what pilots will experience. If the reported ceiling is 400 overcast, the pilot can expect to break out of the clouds and see the runway as the altimeter unwinds through 899 feet (TDZE 499 feet plus the 400-foot ceiling), though pilots should always be prepared that the ceiling might be worse than reported. If the glideslope were inoperative, the pilot is working with localizer-only minimums. Using that same 400-foot overcast, pilots could descend only to 1,000 feet msl, or about 501 feet agl. A different approach may be in order altogether. In any event, as pointed out by Note 3 near the top of the plate, pilots should be prepared that, even though they may be established on the glideslope, the visual approach indicator probably won’t show the same on-glidepath indication.

Check out more charts: Chart Wise

DME Won’t Read Zero at the Loc-Only MAP

This localizer-only approach’s MDA is 1,000 feet. With no runway in sight at minimums, the only option is a missed approach. But note that, even though the co-located VHF/ILS DME is counting down to zero as the aircraft approaches the runway, it won’t indicate zero at the missed approach point—but 1.4 miles. The GPS would read zero at the MAP.

Simple Missed Approach

The missed approach for 17 Left seems simple at first, but it could catch a pilot who had not briefed the procedure. Before beginning the left turn and heading for the TORAC waypoint and the 4 nm GPS hold, the pilot must climb straight ahead to 1,600 feet, most likely to remain clear of the obstacles.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Louisville ILS or LOC Runway 17L appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

We were flying rather well, all things considered; I could maneuver the F2 around within this part of the envelope, practically begging it to fall off and drop its nose past the horizon. It didn’t comply. Instead, with a little push of the stick and throttle, we flew right out of the deep end of the slow flight regime as soon as the airplane was asked.

The Flight Design F2 reflects well the aerodynamic understanding and advanced avionics technology driven into the design. After the company’s CT series gained a reputation as a somewhat fussy airplane to fly, the F2 turns that impression on its head.

1. The 10.6-inch screens can show a full-screen PFD and engine cluster, as well as split into various PFD, MFD or engine-indication formats.

2. An optional Garmin G5 supports the main hardware with a solid backup. A Garmin GFC 500 autopilot can be installed as well.

3. Panel-mounted AmSafe air bags are a unique feature in the class, and they complement the standard BRS ballistic airframe parachute.

4. A Garmin GMA 342 audio panel and Garmin 345 ADS-B In and Out system completes the fully stacked flight deck.

5. The single-lever throttle-and-brake system simplifies power management both on the ground and in the air.

New Ownership

The clean-sheet design that comprises the F2 comes from the rebirth of the company that created it. Flight Design evolved from a small business building ultralights and gliders into an airplane manufacturer in 1988, managed by its founder and visionary leader, Matthias Betsch. However, financial troubles dogged its existence, and while the CT series of microlight (in Europe) and light-sport category (in the US) aircraft proved reasonably successful in both the US and Europe (see sidebar), new designs were hard to fund and get off the ground.

• READ MORE: Flight Design’s F2 CS-23 is One Step Closer to U.S. Validation

Those fortunes changed in 2017, when Flight Design was purchased by Lift Air, a division of Lift Holdings and financially supported by Lindig Group, an industrial manufacturer in Germany. With a new infusion of capital and leadership under managing director Daniel Guenther, Flight Design began the development program on the two-seat F2 series and a four-seat F4. The new models debuted at Aero Friedrichshafen in 2019.

Siemens has joined forces with Flight Design to support an electric version, the F2e, with a proof of concept that debuted in summer 2019. But the first out of the gate will be the traditionally powered F2. As of November 2020, P2—the second prototype of the standard F2 flown for this report, which will meet light sport aircraft standards—has a couple hundred hours on it. The third conforming prototype, P3, is finished and flying in the Czech Republic, and it’s being used to secure European Union Aviation Safety Agency CS23 approval (the rough equivalent to the FAA’s Part 23). The model is now officially in production, and Flight Design expects to have them in the US by the end of January. The F4 project is funded, in development, and projected to debut stateside in summer 2022.

The production quality has kicked up a notch, too, for the all-carbon-fiber airframe. Next-gen CNC machined molds are used to make the fuselage in two pieces—the left and the right sides match exactly. Weight savings derived from the switch to Hexcel pre-preg carbon fiber—reducing the amount of epoxy and filler used—pencil out into a higher useful load on an already generous figure for the LSA category.

“Safety sells the airplane,” Tom Gutmann Jr. says. The Gutmanns—Tom Jr. and Tom Sr.—have been with Flight Design since the aircraft were first imported under the new S-LSA guidance in the US. “We’ve worked together for 18 years. They’re really hardworking and cheerful,” says Tom Peghiny, principal of Flight Design USA. The Gutmanns’ company, Airtime Aviation, in Jenks, Oklahoma, has been the distributor for the central and mountain US since the beginning of Flight Design’s tenure stateside. Flight Design USA serves as the importer and distributor for the northeastern US. A network of dealers spans the country.

The Gutmanns have seen the results of better manufacturing, reporting closer fit on the doors and cowling in particular, which bodes well for maintaining the airplane more easily in the field. The F2′s wider than the CT series too, according to Tom Jr. With a standard BRS ballistic recovery parachute and an AmSafe air-bag system, safety is indeed part of the F2′s DNA.

The main landing gear saw an overhaul as well: Instead of separate gear legs attached to the left and right undersides of the fuselage, a single carbon-fiber strut carries through the belly. The result is much better dampening on landings, which I experienced firsthand during my initial touchdowns during our flight test. This should help the F2′s placement in a flight school lineup, mitigating student errors that the previous designs may have exacerbated.

The Walk-Around

From a few feet away, aerodynamic twists such as the elegant upswept wingtips point to the F2′s potential to handle well at low speeds. A leading-edge cuff on the outboard portion of each wing speaks to this, as do the bigger horizontal stabilizer and sizable vertical fin. The CT series had a stabilator, which contributed to the finesse required to land it well. The F2 moved to a separate elevator system that is split into left and right halves with a “beaver tail” in between.

Hidden beneath the wing structure lies another big change: The F2 has a carry-through spar running the full span, rather than the overlapping two-spar system in previous models. A rugged cockpit capsule in the fuselage continues the Flight Design’s legacy of crashworthiness.

• READ MORE: Flight Design Secures Ukraine Plant and Employees

Up front, the powerplant remains the same—the fuel-injected Rotax 912 iS—but Airtime is testing new propeller combinations. The latest one, from Sensenich, has a sexy scimitar sweep to its tri-blade tips. The team had 10 hours of testing on the new propeller when we flew the airplane, and more testing is needed.

There’s another advantage to the Sensenich prop as well: “We’re trying to increase the US content on the airplane,” Peghiny says. “There’s no downside on US equipment, and it helps insulate the retail price from currency fluctuations. It’s nice to say 45 percent of the aircraft is made in the US—but it also insulates us.”

The oil system has a dry sump, which means that unless the engine has been running, the oil won’t register in range on the dipstick even when there’s enough oil in the system. A “Rotax burp” to move oil up into the system becomes part of the preflight on the first flight of the day, or after it’s been parked a while. A split intake serves both the oil-cooled and water-cooled portions of the engine.

Other than that, there are no real surprises on the preflight. Soon enough, we’re ready to strap in and see how the F2 flies.

First-Flight Impressions

Tom Jr. pointed out a couple of key differences in the F2 cockpit, as compared with other light single-engine piston airplanes. First, the throttle is a single lever—and it also serves as the brake.

Come again?

A full-forward push of the lever gives the pilot full power, as you’d expect. Bringing the throttle back reduces power to idle and then, at the very rearward portion of the throw, engages the hydraulic disc brakes on the main wheels. A valve aft of the throttle charges the system to set a parking brake when needed for a run-up and other actions on the ground.

We started up the Rotax, and I found the system worked surprisingly intuitively once I was taxiing along. Instead of tapping a brake on one side to tighten a turn, I used the steerable nosewheel. Having the system set up this way means you never have a pilot applying power with the brakes on. I weaved my way down the taxiway at Airtime’s home base at Richard Lloyd Jones Jr. Airport (KRVS)—known as Riverside—to feel the responsiveness of the steering prior to taking it onto the runway for the first time.

Following a run-up and ticking items from the checklist, we were cleared for takeoff on Runway 19L. The Rotax ran up to 5,300 rpm as we started the roll—it goes into the yellow arc at 5,500 rpm—and when we got to 50 knots indicated, I started to squeeze back on the stick, and we were soon airborne. We used less than a third of the runway, and I wasn’t even going for best short-field effort on this first takeoff run.

Climbing out at the current VX of 60 knots took us up at more than 600 fpm, steeply angled, while a best rate of climb around 72 knots gave us better than 800 fpm. We needed to stay below the top of the Class D at 2,500 feet msl for a moment, so I dialed it back as we headed for a practice area southeast of the airport.

Cruise-climbing up to 3,500 feet once we were free of the airspace, I gave us some clearing turns and enjoyed the fresh roll rate I got from the ailerons. Rudder coordination was almost too easy; I found that it doesn’t take much thought to keep the ball centered, even as we progressed into exploring slow flight and a stall series. And here’s where all the aerodynamics work really has paid off: I tried to mishandle the airplane with that warning sending solid beeps into my headset, but it’s just really hard to make the F2 misbehave.

A power-on stall—even after I slowed it down to 60 knots before the addition of full power—took us skyward, and we were up at such a deck angle before the airplane entered the stall that both Tom Jr. and I expressed how hard it would be to work yourself into that situation. Sure, it can be done, but between the AOA meter on the PFD flashing red arrows and the other cues, it’s hard to imagine getting there unintentionally. The controllability of the airplane in this regime stays positive.

We needed to head back down in order to return to Riverside’s traffic area, so I set up a glide at VG as notched on the airspeed tape. At 75 knots and power to idle, we came down at 800 fpm. Final flap positions were not yet set, but I had a total of 33 degrees to work with on a sliding scale. We used about 16 degrees for takeoff, and that amount could be put in below 90 knots to help slow us down for landing.

Coming into the pattern, the tower sequenced us in between the Pipers flown by the locally based Spartan College, and I found myself high on the VASI for the first landing. At least I was fast too, but getting the F2 below 75 knots for landing isn’t hard once full flaps go in. The last few degrees, in fact, translated into a progressively higher sink rate. My slightly fast touchdown around 65 knots wasn’t bad—but the gear gave me an assist. We did three more touch-and-goes easily on the 4,208-foot runway, and on each one, I got it more dialed in, finding I liked 65 knots on short final, to bleed off to just below 55 for touchdown. Exact specs for landing speeds are a work in progress at press time, but my senses tell me that feels about right.

The F2 demonstrates what’s achievable within the LSA parameters bounding its high and low speeds. With a stall speed (full flaps) at 39 knots, we also see a true airspeed as high as 133 ktas in my cruise-speed test—knowing that the final airplane will conform to the US LSA standard maximum speed of 120 knots indicated. Peghiny sums up the airplane well, “It’s what our customers need: It goes fast, looks cool and is easy to fly.”

Another Look

We had a beautiful early November day for our flight test, and that was a good thing because we needed to get photos as well for this story. After we shot the pictures over the autumn-burnished shores of Keystone Lake west of Tulsa, I flew the F2 from the right seat just to see what the perspective would be from an instructor’s standpoint. No concerns surfaced, and I found the transition to the CFI side to be seamless. With a 50-inch-wide cabin, there’s no need to be shoulder-to-shoulder with a student—though I could reach everything I needed.

I have a feeling the airplane will find a good home in training fleets because of its comfortable size, slow-flight handling and student-error-dampening new gear. In the fully equipped avionics package, having a Garmin G3X Touch flight display on the right side as well as the left helps out instructors too; instead of parallax, you have a full array of PFD and MFD info to work with. From the instructor’s standpoint, there’s another bonus stemming from the combination throttle-and-brake system: You’ll never have a student ride the brakes while applying power or touching down with the brakes engaged. With the Rotax, you can use mogas or 100LL—another potential area of savings and convenience—and the 34 gallons of fuel sipped at roughly 4.5 gph will take you a long way.

From a recreational user’s perspective, the F2 will give you everything it can in terms of load-carrying capability. There’s a lot of room for cargo, and though the LSA weight limits apply in the US, when the Part 23 version in Europe is completed, operations under that category will readily accommodate a few more pounds. The F2 comes out of the gate with the Garmin GTR 225 comm and GTX 345 with ADS-B, and owners can equip with a standby Garmin G5 electronic instrument, the GFC 507 dual-axis autopilot, and either the GTN 750XI or 650XI navcom/GPS. Sporty leather seats and automotive-style inertial-reel seat belts keep it comfortable too.

First Deliveries

Business slowed down in March and April 2020, but then the phone began to ring again at Airtime for the new and used aircraft they broker. “We had some pre-owned airplanes, and they sold out,” Tom Jr. says. As for the F2, Flight Design USA has four on order when they become available; another dealer has two, and a couple more orders are in the works, according to Peghiny. The first are expected to land stateside by the end of January. Airtime has six aircraft that they hope to have by then as well.

FAA has shown they understand the improvements the LSA industry has made. “The experiment, if it was one, has been successful,” Peghiny says. He credits the safety of the LSA industry in no small part to the Rotax engine: “If you keep fuel and oil in them, they are very reliable.”

The line blurs between light-sport aircraft and what we have considered “traditional” single-engine piston airplanes, and I expect that to continue as technology and advanced design sift up through the ranks rather than trickling down. There’s no compromise in this category with the latest generation of light-sport models, and the F2 fits right in.

Flight Design F2 Specs

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Flight Design’s F2 is An All-Around, All-Composite Light Sport Aircraft appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

On a sunny August afternoon in New York City, an Airbus A330 landed on Runway 31R at John F. Kennedy International Airport. It appeared to be a perfectly normal flight, noteworthy only in the era of COVID-19 for having been one of relatively few airplanes to come across the North Atlantic tracks from Europe that day. But as the heavy jet taxied ponderously to its gate, there were a few signs that this was not an entirely routine arrival. A crowd of onlookers waved and cheered from the rooftop observation deck of the new TWA Hotel. The ground-control frequency crackled with congratulatory messages. As the sleek behemoth turned the corner onto Kilo Foxtrot taxiway, firetrucks sprayed twin jets from their water cannons, forming a perfect arc for the jet to taxi through.

This was a retirement flight—and a noteworthy one at that. Capt. Joe Fahan and First Officer Margrit Fahan were one of my airline’s few married pilot couples who frequently flew together as a team. Energetic and fun-loving, they started posting their aviation adventures to Instagram several years ago (@flyingfahans) and have built an international following of nearly 20,000. Now faced with the fallout of a pandemic that devastated the industry in which they’ve worked for 40 years, the Fahans chose to fly their final airline flight together.

Retirements have always been a big deal at the airlines. At the legacy carriers in particular, pilot careers are a throwback to the America of another age: a good-paying union job, protected by seniority, frequently held at a single company for life. Those of us who came up via the civilian route did a fair amount of jumping around on our way to that coveted major airline slot, but at my company, there are quite a few senior pilots who have never held another flying job outside of the military.

Retirement means that you’ve spent a lifetime flying millions of miles and hundreds of thousands of passengers safely around the globe. It means you’ve survived a career of real and simulated emergencies, arduous check rides, and biannual flight physicals. It signals an end to thousands of far-flung layovers spent with fellow crewmembers as well as years of missed holidays, birthdays and anniversaries at home. For the lucky, retirement means that the airline that hired you all those years ago has somehow survived the vicissitudes of a notoriously unstable industry, and though you may have been scarred by furlough, bankruptcy or mergers, you made it through to the end with hallowed seniority intact.

Accordingly, in normal times, retirement flights are major celebratory events. A retiring captain is traditionally allowed to bypass seniority for the first time in their career and is awarded the trip of their choice. They are usually allowed to hand-pick their crew. Spouses, friends and family accompany them to the final layover where a literal “party to end all parties” is thrown in their honor. The bittersweet last landing is typically followed by a water-cannon salute by airport firefighters, and the flight is usually met at the gate by a chief pilot and union representatives. (I often joke that after my retirement flight, I hope the chief pilot queries, “Who the hell are you?”) At my airline, retiring pilots are presented with a photo of their final aircraft that hangs in the crew room for their last month so hundreds of fellow crewmembers can sign their well-wishes.

Obviously, these are not normal times. Before the pandemic, we were in the middle of a major turnover wave as pilots hired during the 1980s growth spurt reached the mandatory retirement age of 65. This wave was expected to crest at the legacy carriers in 2023 and 2024, when several airlines would have retired more than 700 pilots in a single year. This was driving heavy hiring at the majors and a severe pilot shortage elsewhere throughout the industry. And then COVID-19 hit, and the airlines immediately found themselves massively overstaffed as senior international fleets in particular sat idle for want of unshuttered destinations. The airlines and their pilot unions scrambled to come up with inventive solutions to prevent furloughs, which in many cases included paying pilots partial salaries to take extended leaves of absence.

The next logical step was to offer early retirement to the oldest, most-senior pilots (those, incidentally, for whom the virus posed the greatest health risk). My airline offered three years of around 75 percent pay and two years of paid medical benefits. For pilots 62 years of age or older, the decision was almost a no-brainer. Joe Fahan was in this category, with only one year to go. However, management was not expecting enough takers to significantly mitigate furloughs and sent out Worker Adjustment and Retraining Notification letters to 2,558 junior pilots, around 18 percent of our seniority list. Our MD-88/90 fleet was permanently retired, and a huge displacement bid resulted in more than 1,000 captains slotted to return to the right seat—including yours truly.

Read More from Sam Weigel: Taking Wing

But then a curious thing happened. When the dust cleared, 1,806 pilots had signed up for the Voluntary Early Out Program, well above the expected number, nearly half of whom were under age 62. Margrit was one of these. With five years to go, she had planned on flying with Joe until his retirement, then upgrading and taking command of her beloved Airbus A330 for her last few years. But she kept thinking about all the junior pilots on the chopping block at our airline and elsewhere.

It wasn’t an abstract consideration: The Fahans’ youngest son, Billy, is an Embraer 175 first officer for a regional airline and had received his own furlough notice. Still, they vacillated for three weeks. “You don’t imagine going out this way,” Joe said. “It feels like being left out in the cold.” Margrit added, “You hate to leave because it’s your life.” After 25 years of bidding opposite schedules to raise their two sons, the Fahans had been flying Europe trips together for the last six years, and that enjoyable lifestyle was hard to give up. Ultimately, however, both Joe and Margrit elected to take the early out.

On September 1, 2020, more than 1,500 pilots of my airline’s pilots retired, the largest wave to do so since 2006 (just before our pension was terminated in bankruptcy). Many thousands elsewhere across the industry also hung up their spurs. There was little fanfare as they left the job that defined their adult lives: no hand-picked trips, no layover parties, very few water-cannon salutes, no crew-signed photos. Most merely flew their last trip and went home. Many had taken their retirement flight months earlier without ever realizing it.

The Fahans were lucky. They bid three Europe trips in August, and though two of these were canceled, a Milan, Italy, trip operated as scheduled. The pandemic kept friends and family at home, and the Fahans didn’t get to hand-pick their crew, but they ended up with a good friend as relief pilot anyway. The three-day layover was filled with trips to Venice and Lake Como and meeting an Italian Instagrammer who had home built his own A330 simulator. Air traffic controller friends filmed their arrival to Kennedy and arranged for the now-rare water-cannon salute. A video taken by their relief pilot and posted to Instagram shows Joe and Margrit reading their last parking checklist, after which Joe turns to the camera:

“Well, the flight is over, the shutdown checklist is over, the jobs are over. They surprised us with a water salute after all when we came into the gate, and that’s where I lost it. So, a bit of advice for all of you young aviators out there: The plane you fly is gonna be cool, but it’s the experiences you have on layovers, and the places you go, and the people you meet, and the friends you make that makes all the difference in the world. And if you have half the career we had, you’re going to love it.”

When I talked to Joe and Margrit a few weeks later, they were towing their boat to southwest Florida, where they’ll be spending an increasing amount of time in retirement. “It’s weird being retired,” Joe said. “You miss the airplane, the layovers.” The Fahans are hoping to get their aviation fix via GA flying. Margrit was a sailplane instructor prior to becoming an airline pilot, and she’s looking at getting back into it, while Joe is planning to get his glider rating for the first time and perhaps a floatplane rating as well. Both Joe and Margrit have flown cross-country Pet Rescue Pilots missions in a friend’s Cessna 414, and they are considering a similar twin-engine purchase with the intention of doing further humanitarian work. “Basically, any reason to go fly,” Joe said, with a chuckle.

Since the Fahans retired, more than 600 potential furloughs at our airline were reinstated to their original positions, and quite a few junior captains who would have been downgraded, including myself, are now remaining in the left seat. Though negotiations between the company and union have been hampered by missteps and mutual distrust, they have recently reached additional agreements to save several hundred jobs and keep the remaining 1,700 furloughs on property with partial pay. Similar programs have mitigated the devastating effects of the pandemic all around the airline industry; Billy Fahan had his furlough rescinded for at least six months.

The reality is that until a vaccine is widely distributed, or until rapid testing reaches the point of allowing widespread domestic and international travel, the airline industry will continue to be a shell of itself, and all airline jobs will be at risk. But thanks to a lot of senior pilots like the Fahans who chose to leave the flight deck during their golden-sunset years, many of us in the earlier stages of our careers have a fighting chance of making it through unscathed. To the many recent airline retirees, we owe a great debt of gratitude.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Bittersweet Goodbye for an Airline Couple appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Back in the day, when FAA employees outnumbered amateur airplane builders, a government inspector would do a “pre-closure” inspection on every part of your homebuilt, then return for a pre-first-flight inspection and again every year thereafter. The quality of these inspectors varied. Some were skilled A&Ps who almost always found a discrepancy that you had overlooked or had some useful comment or suggestion to offer. Those you welcomed. A few, however, barely knew one end of an airplane from the other.

It was one of the latter who showed up for the pre-first-flight inspection of my first homebuilt, Melmoth. With thinly veiled bewilderment, he walked around the airplane—which was fairly large and complex for its time and, furthermore, of all-metal construction, an idiom just gaining prevalence among homebuilts in 1973. He finally paused for a long time to contemplate the horizontal tail before delivering himself of the opinion that the elevator looked awfully small.

Indeed, it would have been awfully small—had it been an elevator. But it was not; it was an anti-servo tab.

Melmoth had what is variously termed a “stabilator,” a one-piece or an all-flying tail. Like T-tails, these were quite fashionable in the 1970s; they are less so now. Claims of their advantages always included the assertion that the single-piece surface was more aerodynamically efficient than a hinged elevator. The conventional two-part arrangement has the perplexing property that, as you raise the elevator to lift the nose of the airplane, the leading edge of the stabilizer rises as well, producing a force opposite to what is needed. Because it was not working against itself, the stabilator could in principle be made smaller and lighter without sacrificing effectiveness.

The stabilator was simply a slab wing mounted in bearings at its quarter-chord point. In the range of angles of attack useful for wings, pressures on airfoils balance about the quarter-chord point, and so the slab could be moved through a range of angles without any resistance whatever. To provide centering, a trailing-edge tab—resembling a narrow elevator—was geared to the surface in such a way that when the nose of the slab went down, the tab’s trailing edge went up, producing a resistance that the pilot felt as the expected stick force. The tab linkage consisted of a small pushrod anchored on the fuselage ahead of the stabilator pivot; moving the anchor point, by means of a bell crank or jackscrew, provided trim.

The idea of using a small tab to regulate the behavior of a free-floating surface goes back quite far. It had its origin in the Flettner tabs used to operate the rudders of large ships. Nevertheless, Lockheed patented a version of the stabilator toward the end of World War II, when one of the company’s engineers, John Thorp, designed a tiny single-seat, stabilator-equipped airplane, the Little Dipper, intended, I guess, for possible military-liaison use. To demonstrate its agility, this airplane landed and took off in the inner courtyard of the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia. According to the story as I heard it, some generals were not amused. Thorp would later participate, along with Karl Bergey, in the creation of the Piper Cherokee. He was a great advocate of the all-flying tail, even though early versions used in his T-18 homebuilt proved prone to flutter until—after a series of hair-raising tests that he called “tickling the dragon’s tail”—he cured the problem with outboard-mounted leading-edge weights. That the all-flying tail added a couple of new flutter modes to the empennage was brought home to Piper engineers when the stabilator of a Comanche more or less exploded in flight, shedding its outer panels but, I believe, leaving enough behind to allow the pilot to land the airplane. Slow-motion film of this can be found on YouTube; search for “Comanche tail flutter.”

Another problem of the all-flying tail that did not become apparent until a lot of them were in service on Cessna Cardinals was that, under some circumstances, the stabilator could stall at the last moment during a landing, dropping the nose and damaging the nosewheel. Cessna added a slot to the leading edge of the Cardinal’s stabilator; Beech used a fat, upward-drooped leading edge on the Musketeer’s. The root cause of this problem, however, was simply that the designers, relying on the belief that stabilators were inherently more efficient, had made them too small.

Read More from Peter Garrison: Technicalities

The all-flying tail on Melmoth was well-behaved, except in icing. I avoided known icing, so my encounters were few and mild, but when Melmoth’s stabilator picked up some rime, it wanted to oscillate in pitch, and I had to restrain it with a firm hold on the stick. I knew this was potentially disastrous behavior, and when, after Melmoth’s destruction in a ground collision in 1982, I built its successor (imaginatively dubbed Melmoth 2), I reverted to a two-part horizontal tail with a fixed stabilizer.

One potentially troublesome aspect of stabilators is that the anti-servo tab must be very well-behaved, because it drives the stabilator. This had never occurred to me until, one day, I got a call from a Piper engineer inquiring whether I had any trouble with my stabilator “hunting”—that is, not centering steadily but oscillating slightly, so that the entire stabilator had something like the physical affliction called an essential tremor. The most likely cause was unsteady flow over the anti-servo tab, which it amplified into a movement of the entire surface.

I realized in the course of this discussion that a visit I had made to the Piper factory in Melmoth some time in the mid-1970s had encouraged the decision, already under discussion, to equip the PA-32RT-300 Lance with a T-tail and a single cowling air inlet below the spinner. These were both design features that worked well on Melmoth. Unfortunately, they did not work so well on the Lance, and, after two years, the Lance’s stabilator returned to its original position on the fuselage, and the cowling resumed its familiar binocular stare.

Apparently, one of the complaints from Lance owners about the T-tail was that the stabilator—it was the same stabilator as before—did not have as much pitch authority as when it was mounted on the fuselage. This was presumably a result of its being out of the propwash and therefore less able to raise the nose early during takeoff. I had no trouble getting Melmoth’s nose up early in the takeoff roll; its stabilator was probably proportionally larger, in order to cope while landing with the nose-down pitching moments from its double-slotted Fowler flap.

Melmoth’s stabilator had originally been on the fuselage, just like on the Lance, and while the Lance apparently did not have the hunting problem then, Melmoth did. That—in addition to the then-irresistible stylishness of the T-tail—was my motive for the major revision of the empennage that I made a few months after the first flight, increasing the chord, strength and stiffness of the vertical fin and planting the stabilator on top of it. Strangely, the same change that got rid of the tremor on Melmoth produced it on the Lance.

Airplane design is like marriage: You’re never quite sure how it will turn out, and you have to live—at least for a while—with what you get.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Tall Tales for Airplane Tails appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the old nursery rhyme goes like this: “There was a little girl, / who had a little curl, / right in the middle of her forehead. / When she was good, / she was very good indeed, / and when she was bad she was horrid.” This sums up three days in September 2020 that rocked my world.

I was hit in the eye with a ball at age 18, lost vision for a week, then recovered to enjoy 20/20 vision. At age 63, I was diagnosed with increased intraocular pressure in my left eye. This is called “narrow angle,” or traumatic, glaucoma. I was prescribed eyedrops that controlled the pressure for the next 10 years.

When the eye drops failed to control pressure, I underwent a surgical procedure to vent the pressure via a drainage tube. This is called a Baerveldt shunt. As a result, I lost any meaningful vision in my left eye.

Last year, I sought a Statement of Demonstrated Ability, or SODA, after I passed a medical flight test. During the test, I had to demonstrate my ability to identify objects from the air, traffic in the air, read aeronautical charts while flying, and identify a field for a forced landing. I wrote about this last year, describing my MFT, which was conducted in a simulator with an FAA examiner. A simulator was used because I fly a Cessna Citation CJ1, and you can’t safely do these things for real in a jet. I thought I had a SODA forever. There are airline pilots flying with just one eye—so-called monocular pilots, I am told.

I airlined from New Hampshire to Orlando, Florida, to do recurrent training in the CJ1 at SimCom in the fall. The night I got back, my wife, Cathy, greeted me with a registered letter from the FAA. Because my medical exam had been done months previously and I had been flying safely, I had no hint as to the imposing, frightening, even threatening words I was about to see.

“Dear Mr. (sic) Karl, we are withdrawing your Authorization for Special Issuance of a Medical Certificate Authorization dated March 10, 2016, in accordance with Title 14 of the Code of Federal Regulations, Section 67.401(f), due to glaucoma. You are requested to immediately return any previously issued unexpired medical certificates. We are enclosing a postage-paid business reply envelope for this purpose. If you do not return your medical certificate within 14 days, your file will be sent to FAA legal counsel for consideration of legal enforcement action.”

Pretty horrid, don’t you think? What prompted somebody in Oklahoma City to send such a letter? There had been no change in vision status, no accident or incident, no reason I could think of. But the FAA moves in mysterious ways, and rather than fantasize as to what kind of human being would want to inflict such pain on another, I resolved to follow the suggestion in the letter: get another MFT. (I did think unflattering thoughts about the doctor who signed the letter, but I imagine he’s used to that.)

Read More from Dick Karl: Gear Up

What happened next was the confluence of helpful people who work for the same FAA that caused the anguish. I called my regional flight surgeon, Dr. Susan Northrup; she’s the one who had arranged for my MFT last year. She expressed surprise that I had received the letter. She tried to extend my medical, but it had already been withdrawn in the FAA’s system, so no extension was possible. When I told her that I had just finished recurrent training at SimCom the day before, she asked that I send my training records to her. The SimCom CJ program director, Sarah Warner, immediately arranged for my records to be sent and attached a note exclaiming she had no idea I had a vision limitation when she supervised my 61.58 recurrent check ride. My wife pointed out that the forces working against me were men and those trying to help me were women.

Unfortunately, the records didn’t do the trick; another medical flight test was required. I remembered Steve Moore, the FAA examiner who had conducted last year’s MFT. I called his number, and another miracle, he answered his phone on the first ring. Sure, he remembered. Yes, his schedule had room. Yes, Dr. Northrup would authorize another medical flight test.

So, I rented an hour of simulator time at FlightSafety’s Class D CJ3 simulator ($1,600) and checked out round-trip tickets right back to Orlando ($1,000). By 5:30 p.m. two nights later, I was in the briefing room. My vision was just like it was last year. Steve was just as thorough (and nice) as last year.

By 7:30, I was out the door and in the arms of my flying buddy Bill Albert and his wife, who took me to dinner and put me up in their home. Steve sent the results to Dr. Northrup that night.

The next morning, I boarded a 0610 flight back north. That afternoon, as I was driving back home from the airport, I received an email from the regional air surgeon reinstating my medical. I think I even got a SODA this time, but I thought that last year. I’ll let you know.

To celebrate, I flew a short flight from Lebanon (KLEB), New Hampshire, to Albany (KALB), New York, and picked up close friends who had been stranded there. Over dinner, we reviewed the previous week. I had gone through the stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance), rallied and had some wonderful people help me. They came through. They were “very good indeed.”

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Sudden Surprise Trouble with a Medical Certificate appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Aviation has always been a dream and interest in my life. I was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, not too far away from John F. Kennedy International Airport (KJFK). I used to wake up to airplanes screaming out of the airport every single morning as child before I got ready for school.

One morning, I noticed the sound was different—it wasn’t the usual growl. This sounded like it had some speed to it, so I ran to my back window. When I looked, I saw a dartlike airplane that howled by, followed by a loud bang. That aircraft was known as Concorde.

At this point, I was hooked; I wanted to be in aviation without a doubt. When it was time for high school, I had to make a list of which high schools I was interested in, with my top choice first. (That’s the way it is within the New York City public school system.) Going through the book, I saw Aviation High School in Queens, and I was sold. I figured in order to start my journey as a pilot, that was where I had to go. I put the school at the top of my list and was accepted as a student.

I went to the school for freshman orientation, and I realized it was a school that made aircraft technicians, not pilots. I was a bit disappointed, but I still had an opportunity to be a part of the aviation industry and contribute, which I was OK with. High school was fun—not many teenagers get a chance to work with heavy machinery and play with welding torches and jet engines.

Upon graduation at 18 years old, I was a qualified aircraft maintenance technician with an airframe and powerplant certificate. It felt surreal. I couldn’t believe that, at such a young age, I could work on airplanes. What made it even crazier was that I was hired by a major airline to be an aircraft maintenance technician at the airport where the dream started, John F. Kennedy airport.

I started my career in the cabin—fixing seat backs, overhead bins and changing carpets. I then moved on to line maintenance, where I worked on engines, landing gear and numerous other items. I had the best time of my life there learning and just having fun. I eventually transferred to Atlanta, where I held other positions in maintenance.

While I was working in Atlanta, I had a callout to address an issue on an aircraft. When I got up there, the captain looked at me and said: “You’re a pretty young-looking guy. Have you ever thought about flying?” My answer while laughing was, “A long time ago—not anymore.” I saw this same captain two more times within the next two months, and he’d ask the same thing. I finally broke down and expressed my interest in an introductory flight, and we exchanged numbers.

He set me up with my first intro flight at Henry County Airport (KHMP) in Hampton with a friend of his who was an instructor, and the rest was history. I ended up earning my private, instrument, commercial, multiengine and, finally, CFI ratings in the span of a little more than 3 years.

Read More: In Depth

After I got my private, I spent time just flying and enjoying it, taking a break from all the studying and written exams. I wanted to share my newfound love and passion with friends and family, hoping to ignite a fire in them to want to do the same thing. When I was ready to continue my journey, I started pursuing my instrument rating.

The instrument was a tough one, so much information to process. In my training, I was discouraged a few times and actually began to feel like I was in way over my head on this one. I had to really engulf myself in it for it to click. This required nonstop studying and videos to help. Surprisingly, I started having the time of my life learning how to shoot approaches and holds and pick up IFR clearances.

When it was time for my instrument check ride, I failed my first time around. Nervousness got the best of me, and I forgot to look up at the runway when the designated pilot examiner called it in sight. Unfortunately, I became so fixated on flying the ILS approach and completely had a brain fart. I was absolutely devastated—but I just accepted it, got back in the saddle, got together with my CFI and scheduled another check ride. I passed that time around, and I felt like a genius because instrument flying is such a challenge.

I moved on to the commercial license. It was a blast building and fine-tuning the information I had already acquired. Some of the commercial maneuvers were challenging, but it eventually came together. Becoming a commercial pilot was gratifying because I could actually get hired to fly, and that was a fantastic feeling, to say the least. I sat and pondered multiengine training for a while because it can be pretty expensive. The thing was, I wanted to make myself more marketable as a pilot, so I went forward with it and earned my multiengine add-on rating.

At this point, becoming a CFI was an obvious decision for me. Already being a maintenance instructor for my day job, I felt teaching was in my blood. Plus, if you know me personally, you know that I like to talk. But interestingly, the hardest thing about becoming a CFI during training was talking out loud while flying. I was used to things just happening; to fly and explain was different but a lot of fun. Being a CFI now allows me to follow through if someone has an interest in flying. I can take them on as a student and make them into another pilot, which is an absolute blessing.

Recently, I’ve had an interest in aerobatics, and I bought an American Champion Decathlon to train in. I’m not sure where it will take me, but it’s exhilarating to fly aerobatics. I went to Greg Koontz’s two-day basic aerobatic course. If you have a Decathlon and want to learn how to tame it, he’s definitely the man to see.

Moving forward, I’d like to continue to promote the enjoyment in aviation and be an ambassador in the industry. By using my Instagram and newly started YouTube channel, I hope I can encourage the passion in someone to get in the air. I also go back to my high school in New York and connect with the students there—they need that representation.

Flying has been a dream since I was a little boy looking out my back window in Brooklyn, and now I’m living it. In the area I grew up in, aviation wasn’t a thing, and nobody talked about it. Being an African American, representing my community is imperative because then they know they can pursue aviation. I still meet individuals who tell me that I’m the first Black pilot that they have met. That simply tells me that I have more work to do in spreading the joy of the wonderful world of aviation.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post The Journey from MX to CFI appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Readers of this publication are more intimate than most with the circumstances surrounding the tragedy of the Boeing 737 Max, but just as a review, the crashes of Lion Air Flight 610 in October 2018 and Ethiopian Airlines Flight 302 five months later are all attributed to the malfunction of the maneuvering characteristics augmentation system.

Boeing claimed that the MCAS system was designed to create the same flight-control feel as the previous versions of the airplane, as well as compensate for the tendency of the more-forward-mounted, underslung engines to potentially raise the nose to a critical angle of attack at lower speeds and high power during manual flight operations.

In addition to software flaws, typical Boeing redundancy was not included in the MCAS. If a single failure occurred, notably the angle of attack sensors, the stabilizer trim would activate in the nose-down direction, potentially overpowering the crew. Adding salt to the wounds, reference to the function of the MCAS was absent from pilot manuals. As investigations progressed, it was determined that the manufacturer’s emergency-checklist fix for a malfunction, the runaway-stabilizer-trim procedure, was inadequate.

Considering the tragedy of 346 lives lost, now what? As with all airplane accidents, more than one culprit is involved. Though the MCAS has received its fair share of the blame, the system is just the Band-Aid to the problem. The real problem is far below the surface and more difficult to address because it’s not tangible.

The issue begins with a long-established FAA program called the Organization Designation Authorization, whose origin can be traced back to 1926 with the advent of an aeromedical branch within the Bureau of Air Commerce, which formed the basis for the network of aeromedical examiners. Pilots who seek medical certificates are very familiar with this examination process. It is performed by private sector doctors appropriately ordained and trained by the FAA.

The AME network was founded on the basic principle of the current ODA program, which requires the participation of private enterprise and expertise outside of government to assist with regulatory matters because of limited resources. In the FAA’s words: “The FAA may delegate to a qualified private person a matter related to issuing certificates, or related to the examination, testing and inspection necessary to issue a certificate on behalf of the FAA Administrator as authorized by statute to issue under 49 USC 44702(a).”

This delegation principle also applies to organizations and companies. The list includes type certification, supplemental type certification, production certification, parts manufacturer approval, Technical Standard Order authorization holder, air operator certification, and major repair, alteration and airworthiness.

On the individual level, the list includes: designated pilot examiners, mechanic examiners, parachute-rigger examiners, training-center evaluators, aircrew program designees, designated aircraft-dispatch examiners and AMEs.

What does this ODA concept really translate to? Plain and simple, the concept is based on trust. Because of the FAA’s limited resources—translation: money—the agency must rely on industry expertise to assist in their regulatory enforcement process. The government doesn’t have the budget to recruit all the personnel required for the almost infinite tasks involved with maintaining our aviation infrastructure.

Quite frankly, the ODA philosophy has performed admirably for more than 90 years, and it has not operated in a vacuum. The requirements and standards necessary to participate in the numerous programs listed above are stringent. The participants are reviewed on a regular basis. The FAA maintains final authority. And no, it is not a perfect system.

Read More from Les Abend: Jumpseat

On a personal level, I had the honor and privilege of becoming a Boeing 767 check airman. The job description tasked me with the responsibility to ensure that not only the standards of the FAA were maintained but the standards of our airline as well. Because of the trust placed on my shoulders, I never compromised those standards, nor did any of my colleagues. We asked ourselves a simple question: Would you put your family on an airplane with the pilot flying? For me, the ODA principle worked as it has for many industry participants who are diligent professionals entrusted with the safety of human life.

I applaud Representative Peter DeFazio, chair of the House Committee on Transportation and Infrastructure, in his efforts to discover the root causes of the problem that allowed Boeing to present an inferior product to the flying public. But we are all to blame. Why?

The politicians we elected, with good intent, have allowed the ODA program to remain in place and increased its reach, especially in the area of aircraft certification. The public revelation that the fox has been guarding the henhouse should not be a surprise. For decades, we have not only accepted the program but endorsed it.

After completing the simulator training proposed for the 737 Max, FAA administrator Steve Dickson strapped himself into the left seat of the actual jet this past September in Seattle for a two-plus-hour flight test. Having spent 27 years with Delta flying various airplanes including the 737, and then retiring as director of operations, Capt. Dickson was certainly qualified for the task.

From this airline pilot’s perspective, it was a noble gesture in volunteering to fly the troubled Max. Dickson pulled no punches. He did not offer a timeline for the airplane to return to service. Not every FAA administrator would have done the same. But the gesture was mostly symbolic. As of this writing, the re-certification process has yet to be completed for the most scrutinized airplane in the world. Where do we go from here?

The 737 Max will be fixed. I have confidence that it will safely take to the skies with an improved MCAS system and, more important, with airline pilots that have been adequately trained. Though proposed legislation requires manufacturers to adopt safety-management programs similar to the airlines to better assess significant design changes, and to ensure risk calculations are realistic, it’s not a complete solution.

Legislatures and the FAA may want to take a lesson from the National Transportation Safety Board playbook by incorporating the ODA program within the agency’s investigation protocol of utilizing the party system. As an example, parties can include the airline, pilots’ union, airplane manufacturer, engine manufacturer and so on. The bias of the participants is already baked into the process. Each party member has a level of expertise that assists the NTSB in objectively reaching a probable-cause conclusion. Rather than utilize this protocol as part of an accident investigation, apply the party concept to managing the ODA program.

At the end of the day, the 737 Max tragedies are still accident investigations. The probable causes are more complicated than the MCAS failure itself. We must still embrace the FAA’s ODA program because, ultimately, it’s been proved to work, and the framework is embedded into our aviation infrastructure.

As with all human designs, there is always room for improvement. The bad news is that Boeing had a major role in the tragic Max debacle. The good news is that the manufacturer forced us to look in the mirror.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Blame for the 737 Max appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

More than 20 years after that “guys flying trip” through the Caribbean, I can still picture the view out the front of that 310. More important, I can still remember some of the lessons learned. My companions were all multi-thousand-hour pilots with diverse flying backgrounds, and I received a priceless education over the course of that long weekend. Most of what I knew about flying were S-turns and wind-correction angles; these guys knew short-field landings, thunderstorm avoidance, flight-planning hacks, customs procedures and more. Even casual conversation contained valuable insights on flying in the real world.

There was certainly no syllabus there—lessons were delivered over grouper sandwiches, and our itinerary was determined by when we had our first piña colada—but it was a better flight school than any airline academy could offer. By the end of the trip, I could even tell a reasonably good flying tale (something I quickly realized was almost as important as making a good landing).

It’s easy to get nostalgic about such trips, but I really do believe this is the most overlooked part of flight training. Flight schools do a fine job of helping students pass the FAA tests, but they usually stop at the check ride. We love to recite the cliché that “a private pilot certificate is a license to learn,” but we rarely talk about how to seek that extra learning.

The best way to learn beyond the license is to spend time with other, more-experienced pilots. Whether you call it mentoring, initial operating experience (as the airlines do) or just hangar flying, this transfer of knowledge from old to young should be a deliberate part of your training plan. It doesn’t have to be a formal relationship, but no matter the situation, it’s valuable to have someone you can fly with—left seat or right—to see unique airports, experience challenging weather and gain perspective.

As the Bahamas example shows, step one is to find a mentor who will push you outside of your comfort zone. I know too many 500-hour pilots whose personal minimums haven’t changed since their student days. That conservative mindset may seem like a smart move, but it can reduce fun and utility if taken too far.

This doesn’t mean you should find a daredevil and go penetrate a thunderstorm, but it does mean you should be open to slightly uncomfortable situations. If your crosswind limit is 15 knots, find a pilot to ride in the right seat while you see what 25 knots feels like. If you’re instrument-rated and have never flown an approach to 300 feet, go try it with a safety pilot. Otherwise, you either won’t expand your capabilities or you’ll do it by yourself someday, potentially with dangerous results.

Read More: Pilot’s Discretion

A mentor is also valuable for delivering a reality check when you’re headed for a bad decision. But, remember, the reality check works both ways: Your decision-making process might be too cavalier (the typical example), but it also might be too conservative. A mentor can recognize a mismatch between skills and confidence, something that an anonymous user on an online forum can’t do.

Not all mentors are nice, which is why they aren’t called “friends.” The copilot for that landing in the Bahamas went on to be my instrument instructor, and while it’s no exaggeration to say his teaching saved my life, he also put me through the wringer. I heard others call him old-school. I certainly thought so one day in eastern Kentucky, when, 10 minutes after takeoff from an airport in the mountains, he keyed the mic and told ATC to cancel our IFR flight plan. I hadn’t flown the departure procedure correctly, and he was going to make an impression. We turned around, descended and parked at the FBO—with me stewing the whole time (definitely no grouper sandwiches or piña coladas this time). It was a little over the top, but I’ve never forgotten how important it is to fly the obstacle departure procedure in the mountains.

So, how do you find a mentor? This takes some work and some gumption. The best mentors I’ve had over the years didn’t think of themselves as one, and they didn’t exactly go around handing out business cards. It helps if you have a pilot in the family (thanks, Dad), but often relatives teach different lessons than other pilots.

Start hanging around the airport, whether it’s attending pilot meetings or just spending a few moments on the front porch of the FBO. See who’s doing your type of flying and who has a personality that is a good fit for you. Don’t pick the loudmouth or the know-it-all; pick the one with relevant experience and a good reputation.

Then find some way to be helpful. Don’t just ask for free advice; volunteer to clean the airplane, serve as copilot on an upcoming trip, or assist with some other task. In addition to being polite, this is also a great way to learn some new skills.

It’s not all on the new pilot. More-experienced pilots need to do a better job reaching out. Invite a newer pilot on a trip, provide suggestions, or simply answer the text when someone asks for advice. You don’t need to fly to the Bahamas to make a lasting impact.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post An Aviation Mentor appeared first on FLYING Magazine.