Yep, went flying again. It was my third hour of Wings. For those of you who don’t know, the Wings program was instituted by the FAA to encourage regular training/skill refreshing for us non-career pilots. The simple outline is that you attend a seminar the FAA has given its blessing to, then engage in at least three hours of working with a certified flight instructor (CFI) of your choice. This is supposed to cover things like take off and landing techniques, various manuvering skills, some “hood work” (that instrument flight for those certified, emergency use of instruments for those that aren’t certified for instrument flight), and anything else that needs work or improvement. Completion of this entitles one to a nifty certificate, a pin, and in some cases lower insurance rates. When a safety program can decrease your insurance premiums you know it has some merit.
Anyhow, approached correctly it’s not particularly onerous. I’ve always found inmproving my flight skills to be fun, actually. I’ve been working with the same instructor for over six years now, so he knows me pretty well and has a good idea of what I’m weak in.
After some rescheduling due to the plane I originally reserved being pulled off the line for maintainence, we were in Bravo about an hour and a half later than I had originally planned, but no big deal - we had been notified of the change two days prior. The weather was discouraging many - clouds about 4,000 feet off the deck, looking somewhat grey and purple an ominous. But it was a very nice, stable straus layer, clear visibility under the clouds, and almost no wind. Although the sky *looks * a little threatening, these can actually be superior flying conditions if the system is stable. The stratus layer (that’s flat clouds to the uninitiated) indicates stable air and discourages, nay, elminates thermals so the air is smooth and unturbulent. You might get some sprinkles or light rain, but as long as visibility remains good that’s a non-issue. I doublechecked the weather reports and everything indicated a good day.
So, there I was, preflighting Bravo. I climbed up onto the wing, opened the the door, and said a naughty word.
The reason I said a naughty word was because as soon as I opened the door I could hear gyros spinning. I knew from looking at the schedule no one had been in that airplane since about 10 am. It was 2:30. The gryos had been spinning in place for five and half hours on battery power alone. I was rather surprised they were still going.
I looked at the clipboard with the paperwork. The instructor name for the prior flight was “Nick” (not his real name). Figured.
Well, I finished the pre-flight in a highly skeptical mood. Also noted that he had flown entirely on the left tank, leaving it 1/4 full while the other was all the way full – that’s a bit sloppy, too.
My guy arrived - I usually call him “Eugene” in these stories - and I mentioned the low battery problem. We both got in and, sure enough, not enough juice left in the battery to turn the starter. You could hear a little zzzzrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp! but that was it. And you could hear the gyros slow noticably afterward.
My comments was “I’m not handpropping this puppy this time.” (Bravo is the plane I really did hand prop once - but I was stranded and wanted to get home.)
Fortunately, Gulf November was not being used at the time. So Eugene went into the office to swap the paperwork and report the problem and I pre-flighted Gulf November (GN) and the line guy came out and took the prop lock off. It started on the first try. MUCH better!
I don’t fly Gulf November much, in part because the airspeed is calibrated in MPH and I learned to fly Warriors by using knots. GN’s airspeed dial does have knots on it, too - in smaller numbers printed inside the larger, outer ring of MPH. It’s a bit of a pain to remember to look at the inside ring and occassionally I find myself flying slower than intended because I’m looking at the wrong numbers. And I don’t remember where all the switches are, either, which is a pain, too. But hey, today we’re looking for challenges, right? And it started on the first try - always a plus!
Went through all the pre-launch checks, everything was within acceptable parameters, and we took off. I turned left at 400 feet and was still climbing to 3000 feet when Eugene took the airplane and I got into the “hood”, which is a device that limits your view to just the instruments in front of you, simulating flying through clouds and other low visibility conditions. I took the airplane back, and proceeded to wobble through the sky while Eugene kept a look out for other traffic and was prepared to take over if I really screwed up.
The reason I was wobbling all over is that flying solely on instruments is not a natural activity for humans. It takes practice, which I don’t get much of since I stay out of clouds like I’m supposed to. At least since August 2000. Anyhoo, it involves watching dials and making careful adjustments. The first five minutes is usually pretty pathetic and possibly even nausea-inducing, then I started getting back into the grove, dialed in the Chicago Heights VOR (that’s a navigational beacon) and attempted to point the airplane in that general direction.
After a period of time that seemed much longer than it actually was, I saw the indication that we had passed the VOR, made a turn to get on the proper heading for the home airport, adjusted my speed to 90 knots, and made another turn because I had flown through the radial, then another turn because I had overcorrected…
I did, eventually, get on the propr course. Eugene mentioned something about how I should have been timing from the point I passed over the VOR and I mentioned that the time thing only worked if you flew a straight line from the VOR at a set speed and we had followed a definite S course through my lack of skill at this. But the point was that I did get us accurately over the airport without looking out the window. Which is really the point of this exercise - it’s not to make me an instrument pilot, it’s to give me the skill to navigate to where I can (presumably) make a safe landing even if the visibility drops to a severely restricted level. Personally, I’d rather avoid this situation outside of a simulation - given that I frequently take non-pilot passengers up a real life episode might have me doing this with a frightened passenger or three along to “enjoy” the terror with me. Nuh-uh. Definitely on the list of things I do NOT want to do!
At least time I didn’t screw up the navigating so bad that I had to go back to the VOR and start the process over. Which is what happened the first few times I tried this exercise.
After that, it was off to do steep turns. I used to be really good at them, but then I started flying passengers, who I make efforts not to scare (I really hate screaming passengers) and I stopped doing steep turns for awhile… so I got really, really rusty at them. But this day my technique was back. Between flying under the hood and turning circles I was getting disoriented, which is weird. I’d look straight ahead, thinking I was pointing east and being confused because the landscape didn’t match what I expected, then looked and saw the compass was reading south. Which yeah, makes sense - it does look like the south end of the practice area, but some primative part of my brain was still wimpering “No-no-no! That’s east. They’ve switched everything around to look like it’s south and altered the Earth’s magnetic field to make the compass read wrong.” But I beat that little voice into submission and got re-oriented.
Then we went from steep turns and their g forces to slow flight. Pulled the speed down to 60 mph, which as slow as GN could go without losing lift and entering a stall. Then Eugene said “fly all the way home at this speed.”
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. Anyone can slow it down - holding it there for 15 miles takes real skill.”
Now, I should mention that flying an airplane on the slow end of the envelope is not all that fun - the sensation is akin to driving a car on a slick layer of ice. It doesn’t respond quickly or well to what you tell it to do. There’s a tendency to slow down further and stall, or lose altitude, or otherwise make mistakes. Yes, *it does require some skill to hold it steady in that state.
We start creeping slowly northward. I’m trying to construct an argument to allow for greater speed. As we inch along Eugene finally says that when we pass the north end of Cedar Lake I’m allowed to demonstrate a stall recovery then resume our journey home at normal speed.
Cedar Lake at minimum flight speed is at least six minutes long. It’s a long six minutes when you’re dealing with an uncooperative airplane. Finally, we both agree we’re past the north end of the lake. I pull back the power which, since we’re on the edge of the performance envelope already, results in a loss of lift. The stall warning went off, then the nose dropped downward and the instruments indicated a rapid loss of altitude. I adjusted the airplane to restore lift and went to full power. End of problem. Lost less than 100 feet of altitude. I actually detest stalls, but I’ve learned to do stall recoveries very well. Because I hate them I really need to make an effort to practice them, so Eugene and I have this agreement that, when training with him, I have to do at least one stall recovery regardless of what else we’re doing, and often several.
At that point, the airport calls us and says there’s a four o’clock student that was supposed to be in Bravo, but Bravo still won’t start so could we please bring the airplane back? I look at my watch. It’s 4 o’clock. Eugene says we’ll be back in 15 minutes.
I said we can get back faster than that.
Eugene says “Oh yeah? Show me.”
So I did. We got back to the airport and on the ground in 5 minutes.
Here’s the problem - we’re 20-25 miles away from the airport at 3000 feet in altitude. We want to get to the airport and 0 altitude. The maximum level flight speed of GN is about 120 mph, and that’s on a really, really good day. That looks like 10-15 minutes, doesn’t it?
There’s this thing called gravity…
You see, airplanes don’t have to stay in level flight, they move in three dimensions. By maintaining engine power and descending at the same time I achieved an airspeed of over 150 mph and entered the airport traffic pattern at the proper height as well. Didn’t even require full engine power. Wheeee! I don’t get an excuse to go that fast very often. (You do have to be careful not to exceed certain parameters while doing this sort of thing - you don’t want to cause damage or unnecessary wear or tear.)
Anyhow, I was setting up for a routine landing when Eugene pulled back the throttle and said “Uh-oh!”
This is a called a simulated engine failure - you pull the engine back to idle to simulate power failure. It’s like putting a car in neutral - the engine is still running but it’s not doing any work, you’re just coasting. Oh,lovely.
I got to best glide speed - that gives you the slowest rate of descent under such circumstances - and consider the problem. I’m quite close to the runway, actually, and I have altitude. This is doable.
On the straight, as I’m getting to the end of the runway, the airplane was doing a slow descent and things seemed pretty normal. It’s when you turn without power that you start to really noticably lose altitude. I call base and final approach, drop in some flaps, and realize I’m coming in high.
This is actually more common that you might suppose - one of the leading causes of accidents on powerless landings is coming in too high and overshooting the landing field. Airplanes glide better than people - even pilots - give them credit for, when they’re handled properly, and in a high stress situation there’s a tendency to try to hurry things along and get down on the ground too quickly instead of exercising a little patience and letting the laws of physics do the work. Then, too, since without power any altitude you lose you’re not getting back there’s a tendency to want to hang onto altitude even when you shouldn’t.
So I added more flaps, then the last notch of flaps, to bring the airplane lower. Still not enough. So I side-slipped, which reduces lift and brings you down more, until I was where I needed to be. I then proceeded to a nice, gentle touchdown.
We parked the airplane about eight minutes after being asked to come back.
The rest was paperwork and paying for the flight (urk! The price has gone up again! Damn gas prices!) and some debriefing. “Much improved” was the main point, which was the whole point of doing Wings in the first place.
And afterward I ran into the designated examiner who, several years ago, had given me my checkride. He said hello and asked what kind of flying I was doing today, and I said Wings, and he said good, then asked me about the state I had found Bravo in. Which I told him about. And he went “uh-hmmmm” in that way he does before doing something nasty to an examinee, like giving them a simulated engine failure while in the middle of a steep turn or screwing up the directional gyro while their under the hood or some other sadistic test. I must have done the pale-and-scared thing because he mentioned he was curious not about me but about Nick.
It seems Nick is going to Get A Talking To about his recent lapses.
Granted, he has been improving… last time, he not only left the main power on he also left the keys in the airplane and the mags “hot”, which is not just annoying and stupid but dangerous.
Now, don’t get me wrong - we all forget and leave the master switch on to drain the battery at least once. In fact, I’ve done it twice. But the thing is, the last time I did it was six years ago. Nick has done it at least twice in the last month. Sloppy. Very sloppy. Nor is that the only sloppiness he’s displayed. Being new and young isn’t an excuse. Granted, new CFI’s do make mistakes, but it’s one thing to make a mistake and learn from it, quite another to make the same mistake over and over. Which is what Nick is doing. He’s also causing a lot of inconvenience what with an airplane being taken out of commission due to a drained battery, needing to reschedule people onto different airplanes, and so forth.
He’s really got to shape up, and so far he hasn’t.
>sigh< Nick’s a nice guy - but aviation doesn’t care if you’re a nice guy. He has got to make some improvements or he’s going to get fired. Or worse.
But, hey, MY flight went well and I even had some fun.
