This winter, we received about a foot of snow in one shot, followed by a week of subzero temperatures and high winds. That was about a week and a half of nonflyable weather for those of us still building our tailwheel skills. When the winds finally subsided they were replaced with temperatures in the upper 30s…which resulted in 200-foot ceilings and thick fog. We’re going on week two of these conditions, and it’s now been a full month since I’ve been able to fly at all.

Every aircraft owner in this climate must anticipate conditions and nonflying periods like this. But this is doubly important for relatively new owners like me still learning how to best care for their airplanes and refining flying skills. Gone are the days of landing the FBO’s rental airplane, tossing the keys to the person at the front desk, and forgetting about it for a few weeks. Now, as the caretaker of an airframe and engine, there are more responsibilities to consider.

So, as someone new to ownership, what should you consider when facing weeks upon weeks of nonflyable weather? For me, there are two primary areas of focus—the engine’s health and my perishable flying skills. 

It’s fairly common knowledge that the worst thing you can do to an airplane engine is let it sit unused for long periods. This makes every potential window of flyable weather that much more valuable, considering it might be followed by a month of inactivity. This is why, on my last flight, I pushed my limits a bit and ventured out on an extremely slick runway covered in mud and snow. 

That flight amounted to only one trip around the pattern. But with a thoroughly preheated and then warmed-up engine, the engine did, in fact, reach normal operating temperature as I was turning downwind. The ensuing sketchy runway conditions were bad enough to make me call it a day, but having gotten my engine up to temp, I effectively reset its “sitting on the ground” meter, and I felt better about having to leave it parked for the following weeks.

To ease the strain of starting an engine in frigid temperatures, I do a few things. First, I invested in the best engine preheating system money could buy, utilizing my rule that if the cost to upgrade from the cheapest to the best product available is three figures or less, I just do it. Like most systems, my Reiff preheater has a heating element on the oil pan…but it also has a metal band mounted around each cylinder to heat the entire engine evenly. This also prevents the introduction of piping-hot oil into ice-cold cylinders during start-up.

Similarly, I make a point of storing quarts of oil at home in a warm kitchen cabinet. This way, you’re adding nice warm oil into the engine if you need to add a quart. If your significant other complains about 20W-50 next to the corn flakes, simply put the situation into perspective by pointing out how you could be building an entire experimental aircraft at home but choose instead to hangar a prebuilt example at the airport for their convenience.

On the evening before each winter flight, I’ll drive out to the airport to plug in the preheater. Yes, there are devices to remotely activate such systems via a cellphone or Wi-Fi signal, but I take the opportunity to inspect both the airplane and runway. More than once, I’ve discovered an abysmal snow plowing job, mechanical issue, or some other problem that would have resulted in a canceled flight the following morning.

With a properly cared for and warmed-up engine, my next concern is my proficiency, particularly as a relatively new tailwheel pilot. Just as it’s bad to let your engine sit unused for extended periods, the same goes for your skills. With a typical Monday through Friday 9-to-5 schedule, the lack of daylight in the northern states this time of year effectively limits flying to only Saturday and Sunday. From there, low ceilings or high winds only have to occur a few times to thoroughly ruin a month of flying.

It’s a balancing act. On one hand, you want to respect your personal limits when you’re beginning to get rusty. On the other hand, pushing your limits a bit on a less-than-perfect day might give you the mental reset you need to sharpen your skills and regain some confidence. This will better prepare you to get through the next long period of poor weather and no flying.

It’s always good to go up with an instructor from time to time. If faced with a marginal day with, for example, winds outside of your personal limits, it might be a great opportunity to go up for a lesson, giving you the mental and mechanical reboot necessary to get through another few weeks on the ground.

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Most pilots are introduced to tailwheel flying in small, two-place types such as the Piper Cub, Aeronca Champ and Cessna 140—airplanes that are perfectly suited to initial training and short pleasure flights. But as they build experience, more than a few pilots begin to recognize the limitations of these bantamweights and begin searching for an airplane that offers the satisfaction and fun of a taildragger with the flexibility and utility to unlock a wider variety of flying adventures. Lately, more and more are arriving at the conclusion that the Cessna 170 provides an optimal blend of qualities. Here, we explore what the 170 is like to own and what those owners enjoy most about it.

Design

In 1948, World War II had come to an end, soldiers had returned home to the postwar prosperity of the United States, and consumers weary from years of rationing were buying airplanes as quickly as factories could build them. Cessna was selling thousands of its small, two-place 120 and 140, as well as seeing success with the larger, radial-powered 190 and 195 that seated five people. The jump from one to the other was significant, however, and it didn’t take long for the company to identify this gap in their product offerings.

To address this, Cessna opted to stick with a proven formula. The company created a larger, four-place version of its existing 140 and named it the 170. The two types shared a number of features, including spring-steel landing gear, an aluminum airframe, toe brakes, a large floor-mounted flap lever, and control yokes rather than sticks.

So successful was the design, the 170 would go on to evolve into the wildly popular tricycle-gear 172, and initially, the landing-gear configuration was one of the only differences between the two. At first, they were built side by side on the very same assembly line. Although taildragger production quickly faded in favor of the 172 and other tricycle-gear types, Cessna achieved its goal of effectively bridging the gap between its two existing single-engine product offerings.

Model History

Three variants of the 170 were produced between 1948 and 1956: the 170, 170A and 170B.

The initial version is called the 170 and is commonly referred to as the “ragwing” or the “straight 170.” It was produced for one year only (1948) and is essentially a larger version of the 140. From a distance and without a sense of scale, the two types look nearly identical, with a fabric-covered constant-chord wing, dual wing struts, and a vertical stabilizer that lacks the curved dorsal fin of the later 170s. A total of 714 were built, and these examples tend to be the least expensive means of becoming a 170 owner.

The original fabric wing is characterized by light, crisp roll authority and docile, predictable stall qualities. It’s highly regarded by those who own them, but when evaluating a 170 with a fabric wing, a prospective owner must consider the age and condition of the fabric. Though modern covering systems can last decades when properly cared for, a 170 that’s due for new fabric can cost $8,000 to $10,000 to bring up to date. In such a case, it might make more sense in the long term to pay the premium for a 170A or 170B that, with their all-metal wings, will never require such service.

The 170A was built from 1949 to 1951, and the all-metal wing was indeed the primary change from the 170. The wing has a tapered design with squared-off wingtips, and a single wing strut on each side. The flaps were enlarged, and the maximum flap setting increased from 30 degrees to 50 degrees. Fuel capacity increased from 37.5 gallons to 42 gallons, and the dorsal fin was added, giving it a resemblance to the 190 and 195. A total of 1,522 170A models were built.

The final 170 variant was the 170B. Of the 2,900 examples that were produced from 1952 to 1957, the primary change was the wing. It introduced 3 degrees of dihedral and larger, semi-Fowler flaps. The improved flaps are hugely effective; at gross weight and standard conditions at sea level, the 170B requires only 65 percent of the distance required by the 170A to land over a 50-foot obstacle. And because the flaps produce more lift at smaller settings, takeoff distance over a 50-foot obstacle is reduced by nearly 200 feet.

At their maximum 40-degree setting, the huge flaps can disrupt airflow over the tail surface during slips, which can cause the airplane to pitch down suddenly and severely with potentially fatal results. Accordingly, the 170B flight manual includes a warning that with full flaps, slips are to be avoided. Fortunately, the maximum flap setting enables such a steep approach, owners agree that slips with full flaps are never necessary.

In addition to the improved flaps, the 170B also introduced a balanced horizontal stabilizer and elevator that provide lighter control forces and reduce the need for trim adjustments as speed and configuration changes.

All 170s came equipped from the factory with the 145 hp, six-cylinder Continental C-145, which later became known as the O-300. The relatively modest power means that most 170s are capable of getting into airstrips that they might not be able to get out of, but as the engines are essentially O-200s with two extra cylinders, they’re well-regarded for their reliability and smoothness.

Market Snapshot

A survey of 170s listed for sale at the time of this writing found 21 examples ranging in price from $38,900 for a 170A with a bad cylinder to a $135,000 heavily modified 170B with an upgraded engine and propeller. The median price of the group was $65,000, and the median airframe time was approximately 3,700 hours.

The least expensive 170s tend to be 1948 models with the fabric wing, while the B-models are listed at an average price of $81,000. Predictably, the examples that have been upgraded with more-powerful engines top the range, commonly reaching six figures.

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The value of the 170 has increased notably in the past several years, and this appears to be at least partially attributable to a lower inventory. The popularity of tailwheel aircraft in general and backcountry flying in particular has made 170s of all varieties quite desirable, and their value seems to have outpaced other types.

Flight Characteristics

Climb into the cabin of a 170, and one of the most significant strengths of the design becomes immediately apparent—visibility over the nose is fantastic. This makes taxiing easy and straightforward, and no S-turning is necessary to see where you’re going. The airplane is reasonably easy to maneuver on the ground, and when full rudder doesn’t result in an immediate turn, a light tap of the brake ushers the tail into the direction you desire.

The spring-steel gear legs have a fair amount of flex and do a good job of soaking up bumps. While taxiing on lumpy, uneven surfaces, the airplane tends to wallow just a bit as the wing gently rolls left and right. Later B models feature slightly stiffer gear legs, which minimize the sway to a degree.

Compared with smaller types such as Cubs and 140s—which are invariably flown within a few hundred pounds of gross weight—the 170 can be a very different airplane from one end of the weight-and-balance envelope to the other. Flown solo at sea level with a bit of fuel burned off, the 145 hp Continental provides sprightly takeoff performance, often returning takeoff rolls in the 500-foot range. Loaded to maximum takeoff weight, however, one must expect a 60 percent longer takeoff roll, followed by a rather laborious climb rate that requires 1,820 feet to clear a 50-foot obstacle.

Once in the air, the 170 is as unremarkable as the 172 into which it evolved. Climb performance is sufficient but not impressive; stalls and handling are docile and predictable; and depending on the propeller, cruise performance hovers around 100 to 120 mph, with most owners reporting a fuel burn of 7 to 8 gallons per hour. Useful loads are generally around 850 pounds, leaving roughly 600 pounds for people and gear with full tanks.

Like most taildraggers, landing demands vigilance. The 170 is more docile than many, but the spring-steel landing gear lacks damping of any kind, and this requires a careful, controlled touchdown. Unlike Piper Pacers and Stinson 108s that are equipped with oil damping to slow the rebound, a firm touchdown in a 170 will cause the gear legs to snap back and enthusiastically return the airplane back into the sky.

For those using their 170 to venture out to bumpy strips or off-airport, however, the benefits of the tailwheel configuration quickly become clear. There’s no chance of damaging a fragile nosewheel or firewall on rough ground, and prop strikes are far less likely thanks to greatly increased prop clearance.

Ownership

With more than 5,000 examples produced, most parts are easily sourced for the 170, and it’s not difficult to find qualified mechanics who are familiar with the type. A relatively small number of airworthiness directives on the airframe helps to simplify pre-purchase inspections; other than recurring ADs on the seat tracks and Bendix mag switches, most are either one-time inspections or applicable only to the engine and/or engine accessories.

Ownership is made even easier with a vibrant type club, the International Cessna 170 Association, where members gather online and around the world to share tips and knowledge. Owners actively collaborate to identify and address emerging maintenance issues among the fleet, adding a great layer of safety to the ownership of an aging aircraft.

After the purchase, the 170 is something of a blank canvas. An owner can install original wheelpants and polish bare aluminum for a bit more speed and a classic 1950s look, or they can install a STOL kit and tundra tires for backcountry adventuring. Similarly, the interior can be restored to recapture the original 1950s style, or the upholstery and rear seat can be removed altogether to save weight and maximize cargo space.

Owners with significantly larger budgets are able to completely transform their 170s by installing a larger engine, such as the 180 hp Lycoming O-360. This transforms a stock 170 with its mediocre climb rate into a powerful machine that can much more easily handle short runways with departure-end obstacles. This performance also unlocks capability at high altitudes, particularly when paired with modern composite propellers. While such performance doesn’t come cheap at approximately $50,000 to $60,000 to start, the desirability in today’s market is such that it tends to return a corresponding increase in the aircraft’s resale value.

Inertia-reel shoulder harnesses are a popular modification. Unlike basic fixed shoulder harnesses that require the pilot to constantly loosen them to lean forward and reach the floor-mounted flap handle, the inertia-reel harnesses enable the pilot to reach the flap lever unencumbered and undistracted.

The 170 strikes a great balance of being easy to handle yet never boring. It’s common enough for service and most parts to be easily sourced, but it’s unique enough to turn heads on any ramp. And while the technical differences between the various 170 subtypes are notable, most owners agree that pilot proficiency and skill can easily make up for most of those differences.

Capable of being flown on wheels, skis or floats, the 170 enables adventures of all kinds. The payload falls short of a 180 or 185, but so too does the fuel burn and operating expense. For the pilot who wants a relatively economical taildragger with the ability to take a friend and a pair of bicycles on weeklong camping trips, the 170′s unique blend of strengths make it a particularly attractive approachable aircraft—and a ticket to further adventures.

This story appeared in the August 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

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Van’s Aircraft dropped a bomb at EAA’s AirVenture last week, announcing a—wait for it—high wing backcountry airplane. The company didn’t make a big deal of the major news and there was no official announcement. But Van’s vice president and COO Greg Hughes confirmed that the company is in the process of building an all-metal, high-wing airplane named the RV-15—the 15th design for the Aurora, Oregon-based company.

Hughes said Van’s made the decision to build a backcountry airplane because “it’s a segment of aviation that people are passionate about.” There are no images and few details to share for the RV-15. However, Hughes said that the airplane will emerge with a tailwheel configuration. A tricycle version will follow. Other than that, Van’s wants to wait to announce specs and performance capabilities publicly until they have been proven internally. But Hughes made one promise: “It will be a really fun airplane.” The RV-15 is expected to fly before Oshkosh 2022, in time for Van’s Aircraft’s 50th anniversary.

The RV-15 is a significant departure from Van’s Aircraft’s previous 14 designs. The company started offering its low-wing kit airplanes in 1972 and the current production line includes eight airplanes ranging in size from the single-seat RV-3 to the four-seat RV-10. The versatile product line offers airplanes specifically designed for speed, cross-country flights and aerobatics. Most of the airplanes are offered as kits; however, the RV12iS SLSA can be purchased as a complete build. The last design—the speedy, spacious, two-seat, side-by-side RV-14—was first introduced nearly a decade ago.

The post Van’s Aircraft to Introduce High-Wing Backcountry Airplane appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Based in Kenai, Alaska, a coastal city southwest of Anchorage on the mouth of the Kenai River, Robert Taylor, owner/operator/builder of a four-place kit-built Bearhawk has access to shorelines, waterways, and often-frozen tundra throughout the year. To make full use of his “triphibious” Bearhawk, Taylor has demonstrated his airplane’s performance operating from turf, water, and snow in the past year.

Taylor and his son built the aircraft together, with the original idea to put it on floats. “I fly year-round here in Alaska,” Taylor said, “And I am on skis now, but it will soon be time to swap to wheels. In June, the airplane will go to a nearby lake and be on floats again.”

The triphibious Bearhawk is powered by a 260-hp carbureted Lycoming O-540-E4B5, six-cylinder engine, the same big-bore engine type typically found on Piper PA-32 Cherokee Six and Britten Norman BN-2 Islander aircraft. Taylor is an A&P technician and former inspector, and since completing his Bearhawk in August of 2017, he’s accumulated more than 400 hours of flight time in it.

On wheels, Taylor said the aircraft is powerful and responsive with plenty of power from the Lycoming O-540 up front. “The flight controls are very responsive and can be flown with two fingers. Stalls are very predictable with no tendency to drop one wing. The six-cylinder Lycoming has all the power you could ever need, which makes it a safe airplane to fly. I’ve seen speeds of up to 160 mph IAS in the aircraft and landing speeds of 52 mph, both while on wheels,” he said.

The Bearhawk fits perfectly into the Alaska environment where Taylor flies, the pilot said. “Building the Bearhawk as a floatplane for operation on the Kenai Peninsula equates to placing it in its natural habitat as landing locations are abundant. On skis, the extra power comes in very useful in deep powder snow. When flying frozen tundra, this combination gives us a very useful ski plane as handling characteristics are similar to flying on wheels,” he added.

Another Bearhawk four-place aircraft has been showing off the STOL capability of the model in New Zealand, where Bearhawk pilot Jonathan Battson has won the ‘heavy touring’ class of the annual Healthy Bastards STOL competition in Blenheim, New Zealand, for the third year in a row. Battson completed his Bearhawk trifecta by winning his class during the competition in 2019, 2020, and 2021.

Along with its four-seat Model B, kit-built Bearhawk aircraft are available in the Bearhawk Patrol, the side-by-side Bearhawk Companion, two-place Bearhawk LSA, and their six-place Bearhawk Model 5, which can accommodate a 300-hp Lycoming IO-540 engine. Quick-build kits are available as well as plans only for more adventurous builders. The Austin, Texas-based company will not be exhibiting this year at the Sun ‘n Fun Aerospace Expo April 13 to 19 in Lakeland, Florida.

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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.

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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

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In May 2020, Bearhawk Aircraft launched the latest addition to its line of kit-built backcountry-ready airplanes with the Model 5—a six-place tailwheel aircraft “designed to fly fast and land slow,” according to a company release on March 1. That news shared that the first four of the Model 5 kits had gone out to customers, with construction already begun in some cases. The Model B saw two more first flights as well, with owners completing kits and getting them into the air in Idaho and California.

Customer Brent Huddleston built the Idaho-based Bearhawk Model B in part because he was looking for more performance than what he experienced in his Cessna 182Q, powered by a Continental O-470 engine. “The Bearhawk was the fastest, had the best specs, big doors, and, by comparison, the 182 was too small for even my dog,” said Huddleston. His Model B features an IO-540 engine “ported and polished to 9.5:1 compression.” So far, that’s translating into better climb performance than the 182, and a reported speed of 155 mph true airspeed.

In California, Bearhawk builder Tim Newsome first flew his Model B in February, and it takes the place of the four-seat original Bearhawk he had, which was built by Bob Barrows. According to Newsome: “Enhancements to the Model B include a longer, speedier and more stable Riblett 30-413.5 airfoil, and weight-saving aluminum fuselage formers, window sills, and door sills in place of steel. Airfoil-shaped empennage surfaces improve stability, control authority, and speed.” The company notes that the four-place Bearhawk is “long-established as best-in-class for its speed, STOL capability, and large payload carrying capacity.”

The four Model 5 kits have arrived in Oklahoma, Texas, Nebraska, and New Hampshire. The new Bearhawk features a gross weight of 3,000 lbs. and a cruise speed of 160 mph. With this addition, the company now offers 2-, 4-, and 6-seat models of the tailwheel design, with quick-build kits speeding the construction process to get pilots out flying to the remote airstrips and out-of-the-way places they love.

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Browsing the web in search of an airplane to buy is not unlike taking a stroll through your local bookstore; the newest and trendiest items tend to be featured prominently, with substantial fanfare. Carbon Cubs, Kitfoxes and Cessna 170s dominate social media and are featured front and center, while commanding ever-increasing prices on the usual classified sites. But hiding in the quiet, less-traveled aisles toward the back of the store, treasures can be found: older, less-flashy editions that, while frequently passed over, nonetheless faithfully continue to provide wonderful experiences.

Such is the case with the Piper Colt. Often overlooked as a lower-powered, less-capable version of the more common Tri-Pacer, it’s easily brushed aside by many shoppers. At first glance, its awkward-looking landing gear conveys an unbalanced, top-heavy presence. Further investigation reveals a capacity of only two people on board, with a baggage area in place of the Tri-Pacer’s rear seats.

While many write off the airplane as a contender at that point, an astute shopper takes a closer look, and the Colt reveals itself as a thoroughly underappreciated approachable aircraft.

Model History

When Cessna introduced the 150 in 1958, it didn’t take Piper long to realize they didn’t have a direct competitor and, thus, were losing potential sales. At the time, they lacked an economical two-place trainer with side-by-side seating, and with the introduction of the Cherokee 140 still a handful of years away, they needed a stopgap measure.

The Colt was their solution. Using the Tri-Pacer as the starting point, Piper got to work simplifying it in an effort to reduce costs and offer aggressive pricing. They kept the tricycle gear, but removed the rear seat and door and modified the shape of the rear fuselage. Out came the flaps, rear windows and second fuel tank. Sacrificing horsepower for thrift, they chose the 108 hp Lycoming O-235 in lieu of the Tri-Pacer’s 125 to 160 hp options.

The result was a lighter-weight PA-22 that, at $4,995, was nearly half the cost of a Tri-Pacer and was $2,000 less than Cessna’s 150. Piper ultimately built approximately 2,000 examples between 1961 and 1963 before bringing the Cherokee 140 to the forefront as their inexpensive two-seat trainer.

Market Snapshot

Because Piper produced so many fewer Colts in comparison to the commonplace Tri-Pacer, their presence in classified listings follows suit. Though they’re far less common, there always seems to be one or two listed for sale.

Fortunately for buyers—if not sellers—the Colt’s lower power and limited seating capacity is reflected in resale value. These factors tend to exclude the Colt from the searches of many, and it’s a slightly more difficult airplane to sell as a result. One former Colt owner reported having great difficulty finding a buyer for his, recalling that for a relatively small premium, many buyers opted for the additional power and seating capacity of the Tri-Pacer.

Prices for average examples commonly hover around the midteens, and one example with a high-time engine was recently listed at only $8,000. A wide variety of STCs and mods are available for the Colt, and those with larger engines and tailwheel conversions—as we’ve highlighted in the photos for this story—command higher prices. But, it’s hard to find one priced higher than $30,000.

• READ MORE: Previous editions of “Approachable Aircraft”

Cabin and Interior

For those of us accustomed to Cessna 150s and Piper Cherokees, sliding into the seat of a Colt is a very different experience, not unlike sliding behind the wheel of a vintage automobile. Rather than surrounding its occupants with creaky plastic trim, the Colt exudes vintage craftsmanship. Most surfaces are covered in upholstery or painted metal, and though the panel does have a few plastic trim pieces, many are adorned in a rich, glossy paint that’s reminiscent of classic Bakelite.

As you sink into the plush spring seat and reach for the door handle, you’ll find that the door requires only a fingertip to lightly pull shut as it secures with a satisfying click. No need to repeatedly slam it in the hopes that it actually remains shut throughout the flight.

The view outside is on par with that of a Cessna 150 or 172—though the combination of a slightly lower beltline and a slightly higher seat does seem to open up the outside view a bit. Forward visibility is similarly improved, courtesy of the instrument-panel design, which is lowered on each side of the primary flight instruments.

Flight Characteristics

Taxiing a stock Colt isn’t difficult, but it does require a short period of familiarization. While the rudder pedals steer the nosewheel as expected, the brakes are activated via a small lever attached to the underside of the panel; pull it toward you to activate the brakes. This applies the left and right brakes equally with no accommodation for differential braking. Fortunately, the gear and wing are both relatively compact, and it’s not difficult to smartly maneuver into a tight parking spot.

Takeoff performance of a Colt with the standard O-235 is on par with most other 100 hp two-seat trainers; it’s rather relaxed and not overly concerned about obstacles on the departure end of the runway. The modest power is somewhat balanced by a 2,400-hour time between overhauls and a fuel burn of about 6 gph while cruising at around 105 miles per hour. Operating economy is the O-235′s strong suit.

The Colt has good handling characteristics in flight. Control forces are light, and the only noteworthy aspect is the ceiling-mounted crank for elevator trim. To the uninitiated, it takes some time to learn whether nose-up trim requires clockwise turns or vice versa. It helps to remember: When the knob passes over the pilot’s head from back to front, it’s producing nose-down trim, and when it passes over from front to back, it’s nose-up.

While the Colt lacks flaps, the short wingspan can produce impressive descent rates, and altitude can be shed quickly when necessary. One owner compares the glide ratio to that of a set of keys and describes the Cessna 140 as gliderlike in comparison. Fortunately, this is easily manageable with some power and a bit of planning. Stalls are extremely benign, amounting to a gentle mush and increase in sink rate with no discernible break or wing drop.

Firm landings are softened by a clever and robust suspension design. The main gear is suspended by multiple bungees, and the rebound is slowed by Piper’s Hydrasorb shocks. The result is good shock absorption with little tendency to bounce back into the air after a firm landing.

Ownership Experience

Colt owners report few surprises with regard to the ongoing maintenance and upkeep of their airplanes. As an entirely fabric-covered airplane, Colt ownership does present inherently higher maintenance expenses as compared with fully metal types such as a 150 or Cherokee. While modern fabrics last for many decades, replacement cost is substantial. With a full re-cover easily costing $20,000 or more, a wise owner treats their fabric like an engine, setting aside a certain amount for every hour it’s flown to offset the future replacement expense.

Fabric replacement does include one very significant benefit: the opportunity to open up the airframe and fully inspect every inch of the underlying structure for otherwise hidden issues, such as cracks or corrosion. This is an item of particular importance in a Colt pre-purchase inspection; the flat metal frames around the door posts are prone to rusting and should be thoroughly inspected to confirm they are structurally sound. A log entry indicating that Service Bulletin 819 has been completed indicates that tubing has been inspected, replaced if necessary, and sealed with primer and protectant. Similarly, the integrity of steel tubing in the lower fuselage should be closely inspected because moisture can collect in those areas.

Fabric and fuselage structure aside, the Colt is largely devoid of significant maintenance concerns. An AD exists for the stock wing struts, requiring a recurring, biennial inspection for rust and corrosion. Sealed wing struts eliminate this inspection requirement, making them a popular upgrade.

Virtually all parts are plentiful and easily sourced, and every owner would greatly benefit by joining the extremely active Short Wing Piper Club for the group’s wealth of expertise, technical data and great camaraderie.

Most owners agree that the Colt’s most significant limitations are its low power and limited seating. But for prospective owners shopping for two-place 100 hp airplanes like the 150, 152 or Piper Tomahawk, it offers a compelling set of strengths that far outweigh its limitations—and the tailwheel mod delivers an intriguing alternative to more-expensive models. With a useful load of around 700 pounds, many examples equipped with the optional 36 gallons of fuel capacity—and an abundance of personality—the Colt rewards the pilot who looks a bit closer for an inviting airplane often hiding in plain sight.

This story appeared in the November 2020, Buyers Guide issue of Flying Magazine

The post The Piper Colt: A Real Contender appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

It was a beautiful day this week when my sister, Mary, and I met at the hangar for a $100—no, $200—hamburger flight. Seems like yesterday that we two very young gals were driving down Airport Road in a green Volkswagen Beetle and flying Ercoupes, Piper Colts, Cessna 120s, 140s and Cubs from right here, on the south line at Lunken Airport. It was the early 1960s, and I remember we’d giggle at the thought that, in 50 years, we two old ladies would probably still be driving down Airport Road to the south line, still climbing into airplanes.

Outrageous, but here we are.

Mary’s arthritis makes turning her head to the right painful, so she adjusts the right seat in the Cessna 180 way back, which actually helps to spot traffic—something she’s better at that than I am. She’s also sensitive to light (I call it wimpy) and wears big dark sunglasses and a baseball cap with a Bose headset holding everything in place. I just squint.

As I preflighted ’72B, Mary pointed to a pretty little Cessna 120 taxiing by the hangar.

“Remember when we used to fly Tony Maier’s N72197 for $7 an hour?” she asked. “And remember the time you showed me a really short-field landing? You touched down and stopped in the grass short of the runway. The idea was to surprise Tony by taxiing in from behind his T-hangars. It didn’t bother anybody in the tower (it was a different time), and it worked—but that landing was a bone-cruncher.”

“Yeah, I remember,” I said. “I rolled it out of a slip, cleared the fence and flared, but the damned thing quit flying about 3 feet too high. It wasn’t unsafe but definitely not pretty. Heck, I was just a kid…”

“And a showoff.”

Our lunch destination, Ohio’s Urbana airport (I74), has an interesting history. In the 1930s, an orphan named Warren Grimes purchased farmland and turned it into an airport, which was home to the Grimes Manufacturing Company. Grimes invented the red, green and white navigation lights on aircraft wingtips and tails, as well as all kinds of landing, instrument and interior lights. It’s said that every American-made airplane flown during World War II was equipped with Grimes lights.

Well, the company’s no longer at Urbana, but you can visit the Champaign Aviation Museum where dedicated—and patient—volunteers are rebuilding a B-17 from extremely small pieces. You can also join pilots and townsfolk at the venerable little restaurant, which hasn’t changed much in my lifetime, still serving the best homemade airport pies around.

While she doesn’t fly herself anymore, Mary loves flying with me in the 180, which is great because she’s (usually) good company, often buys lunch and always splits the fuel bill. But we’re a classic example of close siblings with wildly different personalities. This genuinely nice lady is sweeter, gentler, and more kindly, amiable and (I suspect) normal than her “Ms. Full Charge” sister, who she calls “Martha Braveheart.” When I worked for the feds, Mary often came along to seminars and airshows, and to this day, I rarely go anywhere without people asking, “Hey, how’s your sister?”

So, what am I…chopped liver?

Flashing back to that fateful day: At Urbana, I landed right into a brisk wind on the grass runway. We kind of thunked down, and Mary—a longtime school teacher—graded it a six. C’mon, my technique was perfect; the grass just needed rolling. But instead of reinstating my hero status back at Lunken, the 180 “won” again, and I scored something lower than that six. How can this happen after 57 years of flying taildraggers and 25 in this Cessna 180?

Well, the causes for the inelegant arrival—other than having my head up you know where—are kind of interesting, humbling and maybe worth talking about.

The airport was busy with lots of traffic after a long, dreary winter, a wet early spring and then the virus thing. ATIS was advertising the longer, parallel 6,500-foot Runway 3R, which was pretty much into the wind.

Read More from Martha Lunken: Unusual Attitudes

When I called the tower 8 miles north, there were two or three airplanes ahead of me for that runway, so they told me to report left downwind for the shorter, parallel Runway 3L. Closer in, I asked if I could slow up and maybe fit into the traffic landing on 3R. Why was that important? Well, having just spent well in excess of $200 on fuel, hamburgers and butterscotch pie, I was unhappy about the extra expense and longer taxi route to my T-hangar if I landed on 3L. Landing in the first 1,200 feet of 3R means you can exit at the high-speed Bravo taxiway—within spittin’ distance of my hangar.

The tower knows me and the 180 well enough that, with those barn-door flaps out, it can nearly hover (the GPS read 60 knots groundspeed on the downwind). With the first airplane for 3R on the ground, they cleared me to land number two behind a Husky, which my sister, “Ms. Eagle Eye,” had in sight.

I tucked in kind of tight because the Husky, a great short fielder, lives in a hangar near my airplane, so he’d surely stop in 1,200 feet and exit the runway at Bravo.

Except he didn’t. He sailed by the taxiway, and finally at a stop, the tower cleared him for a 180 back to the Bravo taxiway. Rats. So, I made some S-turning monkey motions on base and final and landed just as he cleared the runway. Like, God forbid I’d have to go around—think of the fuel!

But what was really going through my mind? “Hey, Mr. Husky, watch this and see how the pros do short-field landings in taildraggers.”

No surprise that my pure, unadulterated pride wenteth before the fall…from maybe 3 feet above the runway. It wasn’t unsafe, but it sure wasn’t pretty (and this time, I couldn’t use the “I’m just a kid” excuse). I’d held about 55 mph on final with full flaps and just enough power to stay on the visual-approach slope. Pulling the power and transitioning to a three-point full stall—wheel against the stops—take a combination of skill and luck to score a touchdown. This was a bone-crunching drop-down.

Bush pilots use a better technique for really short-field landings: minimum approach speed, full flaps, and enough power for a 500 fpm descent all the way to touchdown. Only on contact do they pull the power and glue it—tail low—on the mains.

Well, my version certainly didn’t impress the Husky pilot—or Mary, who said: “Well, you haven’t changed. You’re still a showoff.”

This story appeared in the October 2020 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Dropping In the Landing appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

A Champion 7ECA Citabria was my first taildragger as well as my first airplane. The first few hours of tailwheel instruction chronicled in my logbook made the score pretty clear—Citabria: 2, me: 0. My instructor always managed to add colorful comments to my logbook to illustrate the at-times-agonizing progress—”Crash and Dash,” he called many of our sessions. But by hour three, my grasp on runway dancing improved once I realized I’d been letting the little Champ lead me around on the ground rather than the other way around.

That checkout eventually taught me the value of subtle inputs to an airplane’s flight controls. Being able to understand what the airplane—any airplane—is telling me through the vibrations I felt and the noises I heard is a skill I don’t take lightly, especially in an era of general aviation cockpits chock-full of labor-saving automation. By the time I’d logged 100 or so hours in the Champ, I felt confident handling the rudder dance my taildragger demanded, even in relatively strong winds. My airplane infused me with a deeper understanding of the fundamentals of flying, like the need to manage an attitude, an airspeed and a flight path, habits that remain with me 40 years later.

“Why bother with the extra efforts of a taildragger?” It’s a question my nosewheel-trained friends often ask. Even during my early training, as wildly zigzaggy as it became at times, I never thought of my efforts as work, but really more of a challenge—one I willingly accepted because it seemed a natural progression to my role later in life as a professional pilot.

But the desire to understand the airplane beyond minimum standards is not the only reason to spend some time with one of these machines. Plenty of people today are buying CubCrafters and Aviat Husky tailwheel airplanes that demand these skills. As an instructor, I also initially took it for granted that pilots knew how to move their feet on the rudder pedals when necessary. Aircraft builders that added links between the rudders and ailerons to help counteract adverse yaw haven’t helped improve a pilot’s understanding of the messages their airplanes are trying to send them.

In a September 2015 Taking Wing installment in Flying, columnist Sam Weigel wrote: “Every landing [in a taildragger] is a challenge when you fly an airplane with fundamentally unstable ground handling. Flying taildraggers gives you instant street cred, a presumption of competence that opens up new opportunities.”

A Little Ground School

The challenge begins by understanding that the center of gravity is what sets tailwheel and tricycle-gear airplanes apart. The CG is an airplane’s balance point where the vertical, horizontal and longitudinal axes all meet. In a tricycle-gear airplane, with a nosewheel, that CG sits along the longitudinal axis in front of the main landing gear roughly halfway back from the nose. That’s why the nosewheel wants to quickly fall forward on its own after touchdown. Once down, that nosewheel handles most of the steering chores.

On a taildragger, the main landing gear sits much farther forward, with the CG just behind it, making the airplane far less forgiving of sloppiness in airspeed, flight-path and flight-control movement—and hence the airplane’s manners during ground maneuvers. Throw in a crosswind, and the efforts needed to keep the airplane headed where you want it are magnified.

Imagine a weather vane stuck on a poll. Because of the vane’s CG, even the mildest breeze makes the front of the vane—or airplane—try to point into the wind. Now imagine taxiing a taildragger pointed straight north with a wind from the west. The weather-vane effect tries to align the airplane with the wind, a dandy trait for a weather vane, but for an airplane, not so much. That translates into the compulsion for the pilot to constantly use the rudder pedals, creating the often cursed “rudder dance.”

The trick is to lead the rudder movement to remain planted on the centerline—a little right rudder, then a little left, and back and forth in hopefully smaller bites, in less of a dance than a coordinated series of inputs. Tailwheel pilots also learn to treat their brakes gingerly. Stomp on them during any kind of forward movement and the airplane could go over on its nose—or even its back. Aircraft with a castering nosewheel that demands active rudder control can give pilots a small taste of taildragging.

Because the nose of a taildragger is already pointing skyward on the ground, it’s sometimes impossible to see ahead to taxi. The only solution, other than adding a pillow beneath the pilot, is to “S” taxi, looking out each side window as the aircraft turns. The trick here is to taxi a tailwheel airplane slowly.

That nose-high attitude also adds a built-in angle of attack, making taildraggers more susceptible to the wind. A few hours of instruction in a moderate wind quickly teaches pilots the importance of remembering where to place the flight controls to prevent surprise movements on the ground. The FAA’s Airplane Flying Handbook says, “The best approach is to understand that tailwheel aircraft are not damaged from the use of too much rudder, but rather from rudder inputs held for too long,” hence the need to practice that rudder dance.

Once a pilot becomes comfortable taxiing a taildragger while correcting for the wind, landing and takeoff won’t seem all that different, at least when it comes to flight controls. On takeoff, the pilot should slowly add power and expect the airplane to try and turn to the left on the ground, thanks to a more pronounced P-factor with that nose up in the air. A tailwheel pilot is ready with right rudder, but not too much. As the airplane gains speed and begins turning right, the pilot must be ready with a little less right rudder and possibly some left. Back and forth it goes while at the same time, with that blast of air across the tail, the elevator quickly becomes effective. The pilot soon nudges just a little forward pressure on the stick or wheel and raises the tail, a move that instantly increases the pilot’s visibility over the nose. Dance the rudders and, at the proper speed, ease the stick back slightly, and you’re flying. Now this becomes like flying any other airplane.

On landing and takeoff, tailwheel pilots quickly learn just the right mixture of aileron, rudder and elevator during a crosswind, as well as touching down or lifting off on the upwind wheel to keep the airplane pointed straight down the centerline. For landing, there’s a full stall, or three-point landing in a taildragger, as well as wheel landings that keep the tail in the air as the aircraft slows.

In a three-point, the airplane is pretty much finished flying by the time the airplane touches down simultaneously on all three wheels. In the faster wheel landing, the pilot has more positive control, touching down on just the mains first. The trick there is to feel the tail running out of effectiveness and gently lowering it to the ground. After 700 to 800 hours in the Champ, I found I brought a serious respect for the use of the rudder during crosswind operations to each successively larger aircraft I flew.

The Payoff

There are rewards for the pilot who devotes the time to understand these tailwheel creatures. There’s the more precise movement of the flight controls that comes from taildraggers, something I’d almost forgotten until I earned a commercial seaplane rating a few summers back. Seaplane flying, like flying a taildragger, is all about precise movements on the rudder, the ailerons and, most of all, the elevator. After a few water takeoffs, the need for gentle yet firm pitch control came flooding back to me, and just enough forward movement on the stick made the little Cub on floats I was flying begin to slide across the surface of Silver Lake in Traverse City, Michigan.

No doubt, learning to fly a taildragger—even when you’re able to practice regularly—can easily become a humbling experience for the complacent pilot. That’s probably why the FAA demands that currency in a tailwheel airplane must include full-stop landings.

No introduction to tailwheel airplanes would be complete without mentioning groundloops, a notoriously uncontrolled maneuver lying in wait for any pilot who fails to remember their tailwheel basics. I remember my checkout in a Cub years ago with another instructor who insisted on demonstrating the first landing from the back seat. No sooner had we touched down than the little Piper headed 30 degrees to the left of the centerline and, before either of us could stop it, had run over a runway light before spinning around on one wheel to a stop. In addition to the other instructor’s embarrassment came the expensive belly damage that grounded the airplane for a month.

Maybe all this tailwheel training really translates into a heightened sensitivity to what’s needed to fly an airplane safely. Crosswinds no longer worry me, not because I think I can handle anything that comes along, but because I’ve well learned the importance of knowing when to head for another airport where the wind is more manageable rather than risk a runway excursion.

Never stop flying a tailwheel airplane, from the moment the engine spins over until you shut down on the ramp. That’s worthy advice for any pilot, but it comes with a special understanding for those of us who fly taildraggers. Don’t get too bogged down with all these taildragger rules here, though. Flying these airplanes is a whole heck of a lot of fun too.

This story appeared in the August 2020 issue of Flying Magazine

The post A Taste of Taildraggers appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

It is often said that a first-time airplane buyer should buy his or her last airplane first. The reasoning is, it makes little sense to invest in an airplane the pilot will outgrow or become bored with. A more expensive option may, in fact, prove to be a better long-term value by serving as a more permanent solution to the pilot’s needs.

Still, a budget is a budget, and while mission requirements vary considerably from one pilot to another, one common goal is to find an airplane that remains interesting and fun while minimizing the cost of ownership. In this respect, the Cessna 120 and 140 offer an intriguing blend of qualities for the new pilot and/or first-time buyer.

Model History

The 120 and 140 were some of the most successful postwar light aircraft in the US. Nearly 8,000 were built between 1946 and 1951, and more than 2,500 remain on the FAA register today.

The 120 was developed as a budget version of the 140, initially lacking flaps, rear side windows and electrical systems. Over the past 70-plus years, however, most of the 120 fleet has been modified with electrical systems and other upgrades.

Today, the presence of flaps is the primary difference between the two models, and with many 140 owners reporting little difference in performance with flaps down, the 120’s lack of flaps should not be considered a significant disadvantage.

The most desirable variant of the family is the 140A. Introduced in 1949, it offered a metal wing with more effective flaps and a redesigned instrument panel. The 140A was also available as the Patroller model, which included Plexiglas doors, a message chute, and a whopping 42-gallon fuel capacity that provided an endurance of around seven hours.

Current Market

As of early 2020, there were 14 140s and two 120s listed for sale in various places, with a median price of $25,000. The most and least expensive examples were significant outliers at $40,000 and $16,000, respectively.

While all the typical factors such as airframe time, engine time since major overhaul and general condition affect these prices, two particular items affect the 120 and 140 more than many other aircraft types—fabric condition and engine type.

Excluding the aforementioned 140A with its standard metal wing—and other 120s and 140s that have had their fabric wings converted to metal at some point in their lives—most 120s and 140s are equipped with fabric wings. While good, modern fabric can last for several decades when properly cared for, it’s wise to determine the age and condition of the fabric as part of a pre-purchase inspection.

With owners reporting $8,000 to $10,000 costs to replace the fabric and address minor internal repairs that are commonly found during the process, fabric replacement can approach half the total value of many airplanes on the market. Accordingly, purchasing an airplane with old, deteriorating fabric is not unlike purchasing an airplane with an engine in need of overhaul, and the selling price should be adjusted appropriately.

There are multiple engine types found in the Cessna 120/140 fleets. The most common—and, typically, the least expensive—is the 85 hp Continental C85 that came equipped in most examples. The noticeably more powerful C90 is less common but very well-liked for its blend of low weight and higher power.

A popular upgrade is the ubiquitous 100 hp Continental O-200, but because the rated horsepower is only attainable at higher rpm, many owners prefer instead to upgrade their C85s with an O-200 crankshaft as an STC. This provides additional power at a lower, more usable rpm range than the O-200.

Finally, some examples are fitted with the more powerful 108 hp Lycoming O-235 and 125 to 135 hp O-290. While the additional power makes a 120 or 140 perform notably better on climbout, these engines are also heavier, and payload can suffer. Additionally, because the O-290 is no longer produced or supported, parts have become both difficult to find and significantly more expensive than the alternatives.

Current FAA records indicate 674 120s, 1,653 140s and 235 140As are on the registry. The relative rarity of the 140A combined with its more sought-after features commands a premium over the others, with prices that are commonly 20 to 30 percent higher than the rest.

Ultimately, the most desirable examples have a recently overhauled engine, newer wing fabric, a well-kept interior and a reasonably up-to-date, ADS-B-compliant panel.

Flying Characteristics

Because the 120 and 140 are essentially tailwheel predecessors of the first 150s, the flight qualities are very similar. Unfortunately, so is the limited useful load. The maximum gross weight for the 120 and 140 is 1,450 pounds, and 1,500 pounds for the 140A. All have a standard fuel capacity of 25 gallons and empty weights that range from 800 to 1,050 pounds, resulting in a rather-limited payload.

With a heavier O-290 bringing his airplane’s empty weight up to 1,050 pounds, one owner reports having only 250 pounds left over for people and bags, underscoring the concern about the heavier, more powerful engine options. Similarly, most pilots prefer the fabric wing because it tends to weigh 30 to 50 pounds less than those that have been metalized.

The tailwheel configuration is, of course, what makes the 120 and 140 so vastly different from the 150. And the relatively benign handling and ground manners make it a great introduction to tailwheel flying. Visibility over the nose is fantastic, and the effective rudder makes takeoffs straightforward.

Read More: Approachable Aircraft

Once in the air, the 120 and 140 do indeed feel akin to the 150, providing a typical cruise speed of 100 to 110 mph with similar cabin comfort, space and handling qualities. Fuel burn varies by engine choice, but 4.5 to 5 gallons per hour is common. The fabric wing provides nice flying characteristics, with a light, crisp roll and an exceptionally docile and predictable stall.

Full-stall, three-point landings are almost a nonevent in the 120 and 140. By the time you milk every last bit of lift out of the wing and settle onto the runway, the remaining speed and energy is so low, very little effort is required to manage the otherwise typical tailwheel characteristics as you roll to a stop.

Wheel landings require more attention, particularly on lumpy grass strips. While most bounces on landing tend to be the result of a misjudged flare or an effort to force the airplane onto the runway, the Cessna’s undamped spring-steel landing gear is quick to convert an errant runway lump into an unplanned trip back into the air.

Early on, the 120 and 140 earned a reputation of being prone to nosing over while braking. Though many blame this on the positioning of the landing gear, the belief was more likely a result of brakes that were unusually powerful for the time period.

In that era, other light-tailwheel-aircraft types typically came equipped with relatively weak, cable-actuated brakes activated by tiny heel pedals. The 120 and 140, on the other hand, came with much more effective hydraulic toe brakes. This resulting combination of leverage and power ended in nose-over accidents when unsuspecting pilots jammed on the brakes.

To address this, many 120s and 140s have been modified with gear extenders, which aim to prevent these incidents by placing the wheels slightly ahead of the gear legs. While these do help to reduce the nose-over tendency, some owners and maintainers complain that they also introduce torsional flex to the gear, which can weaken and fatigue the attachment points to the fuselage. It’s wise to inspect this area closely during a pre-purchase inspection.

Later 140s and all 140As addressed the concern with redesigned gear legs that were themselves slightly swept forward to help counteract any nose-over tendencies. The gear attachment points on these models were strengthened accordingly to handle the torsional loads from the forward-swept gear.

Ultimately, the 120 and 140 provide a great introduction to tailwheel flying. With predictable handling, a very effective rudder and sturdy landing gear, they are forgiving to newcomers while still providing the endless satisfaction that comes from mastering a tailwheel aircraft.

Ownership

Plenty of aircraft types provide a low operating cost on par with the 120 and 140, but few also offer the retro, 1940s-era character and tailwheel flair. Together, these characteristics combine to make every flight that much more interesting, rewarding and memorable than those in more common entry-level types such as the Cessna 150 and Piper Cherokee. Park one of the former on a ramp, and they’ll often go unnoticed; park a 140 on a ramp, and you’ll soon be making new friends as they meander over to swap stories and memories.

And while the 120 and 140 lack the necessary qualities for true STOL operations, many owners find it to be a rugged, reliable machine for accessing poorly maintained grass and dirt strips, particularly when larger tires are fitted. Indeed, without a relatively fragile nosewheel attached to the firewall, the simple and beefy main gear is poised to take significantly more abuse than tricycle gear counterparts. Additionally, pilots in colder climates can install skis to open up entirely different flying experiences and adventures.

It’s this blend of character and qualities that make the 120 and 140 stand out. Though easily surpassed in one measure or another on a spreadsheet, they demonstrate how an aircraft can fall short in many commonly held metrics while offering a wonderful blend of less tangible strengths. Provided an owner can live with a limited payload and leisurely performance, these are airplanes that keep their owners interested and enthusiastic for a long time. Indeed, many owners we know vow they’ll never sell theirs, and it’s not uncommon to hear those who have express regret that they did.

This story appeared in the March 2020 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Approachable Aircraft: The Cessna 120/140 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.