Category Flying and Gliding

When it comes to action and noise, the aerobatics are the centerpiece of the shows. Aerobatics are a sort of aeronautical acrobatics—two words that combine to give the sport its name. With specially built airplanes, aerobatics pilots can turn the art of flying on its head—literally. Flying upside down, in corkscrews, fluttering earthward like a leaf, even flying backward—all form a part of a sport that allows pilots to “spread their wings.” For most pilots, flying means flying straight and level, so once we learn how to perform aerobatics, it is liberating for many of us to step into a high-powered, ultra-strong airplane and spend some time turning the craft of flying into art.

Aerobatics rely on four basic maneuvers that pilots combine and string together to create tens of thousands of subtle variations. In fact, the Aresti “dictionary,” created by a Spanish aerobatics genius named Jose Luis Aresti, contains thousands of aerobatic diagrams that pilots use to sketch out their routines. But each of those diagrams is made up of a mixture of the five “letters” of the aerobatics alphabet.

Let’s take a general look at aerobatics in order to make your next air show outing a lot more interesting. Refer to Chapters 7, “How Airplanes Fly, Part 1: The Parts of a Plane,” and 8, “How Airplanes Fly, Part 2: The

Aerodynamics of Flight,” for a description of how throttle, aileron, elevator, and rudder are used together to accomplish these maneuvers.

Turning Flying on its Head

One of the fundamental skills that aerobatic pilots must master is inverted Hying—flying upside down. Inverted flying is a challenge because it’s not just the plane that stands on its head—the pilot does, too. When you’re in the cockpit, your body protests all the blood that gravitates toward your head. (We’ll talk more about the body’s response to aerobatics later in this chapter.) Your instincts about how to use your controls are reversed, too.

During inverted flight, every control movement a pilot makes in the cockpit with ailerons, elevators, and rudders has an effect different from what he’d expect in normal, upright flight. (For a review of the effects of the three basic control surfaces, turn back to Chapters 7 and 8.) The elevators provide the clearest example. In upright flight, the pilot pulls the control stick toward him to cause the elevators to make the airplane’s nose move up. In inverted flight, the same control movement actually moves the airplane’s nose toward the earth.

Entering inverted flight involves a highly coordinated series of control movements. First, with a little extra airspeed than usual in order to offset the high drag caused by the slightly steeper pitch attitude once it’s inverted (after all, the airfoil is usually

designed for upright flying, not inverted), the pilot turns the control column to begin a bank in either direction. When the bank angle reaches about 45 degrees, he begins to apply rudder in the opposite direction of the bank and begins to push forward on the control column. As he approaches inverted flight, he gradually reduces the rudder and bank angle, but maintains some forward pressure.

Until a pilot has practiced inverted flight for a while, everything the airplane does seems to be backward. But in order to be able to fly the full repertoire of aerobatics, a pilot has to learn inverted flying.

Putting a Spin on it

Spins are a key tool in the aerobatic pilot’s kit. Think of spins as those maneuvers in which the airplane appears to be twirling downward like a spinning leaf. To execute the traditional spin, a pilot decelerates to a speed that is so slow the wings can no longer provide enough lifting force to keep the plane flying level. That’s the speed where the pilot, using mostly rudder control, intentionally forces the plane to turn in one direction or the other, and the trademark downward spiraling motion begins.

Aerobatic pilots use the spin maneuver as the basis for performing a high – speed stunt called a “snap roll.” The snap roll and the spin look very different and are executed at different speeds. What they have in common is how they are initiated—by a loss of lifting force, which the pilot causes and uses in different ways.

In the spin, the pilot eliminates the lifting force by decelerating to a point where the wings no longer provide lift. In a snap roll, the pilot doesn’t bother to slow down to enter the spiral; he flies at a constant speed and altitude and may even be ascending.

How does he eliminate the lifting force in these circumstances? He uses a combination of full, even abrupt, left or right rudder control while pulling the elevator control sharply backward. This forces the plane to feel the same loss of lifting force that the wings experience in the traditional, slow – speed spin. But because of the snap roll’s higher speed, the result is a startlingly quick rotation that thrills audiences.

If you’re like me, you were bitten by the aviation bug the very first time you saw an ear-splitting formation of airplanes called the Thunderbirds. The U. S. Air Force’s Demonstration Squadron was created in the 1950s to lure young men to join the youngest of the armed services, but for me, and I’m certain for millions of other youngsters and not-so-youngsters, the Thunderbirds fueled my interest in civilian aviation.

The Thunderbirds, and their Navy counterpart group, the Blue Angels, may have beckoned plenty of young recruits into the service, but I’ll bet that half the cockpit seats in America’s jetliners are filled thanks to the breathtaking air show performances of the Thunderbirds, the Blue Angels, and scores of thrilling air-show performers.

No Business Like (Air)Show Business

The part of the Thunderbirds show that thrilled me years ago and that continues to get my heart pumping today: Partway through the show, the five jets fly away into the distance after performing a series of maneuvers. It seems as though the show is over.

But miles away, they turn back toward the airport in a tight arrowhead – shaped wedge and speed toward the crowd. With streams of smoke trailing behind, they get closer and closer while they fly lower and lower to the ground. Then, right at the center of the airport, the five jets pull sharply upward and split away from their tight formation, creating a starburst of smoke trails and an explosion of sound from the jet engines overhead.

For me, it was the mixture of roaring engines, beautiful airplanes, and a hint of danger that sparked my imagination. That potent mixture has made air shows one of the most popular summertime events in the United States, and a crop of daring, highly skilled pilots have emerged to showcase one of the most thrilling faces of aviation— aerobatics.

Every weekend from late spring to early autumn—air show “season” pretty much mirrors baseball season—airports around the country, large and small, play host to air shows featuring some of the most breathtaking flying stunts you’ll see anywhere. From Patty Wagstaff, a slip of a woman who manhandles an airplane like no one in history, to Wayne Handley, who pilots the beefy, overpowered Turbo Raven, air-show pilots get up close and personal with aviation fans, often mingling in crowds and firing up enthusiasm in aerobatics.

In 19$2, the Thunderbirds suffered a tragedy that made some wonder if the boost to avia­tion was worth the danger of flying close-formation aerobatics. While performing a for­mation loop, the lead airplane suffered a mechanical failure. The formation airplanes, concentrating only on following the lead airplane, as they were trained, didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late to recover, despite the fact that they are in con­stant radio communication with each other and are trained for just such an emergency. Despite the tragic loss of life, military pilots saluted the formation pilots for their unblink­ing discipline in the cockpit Needless to say, the Thunderbirds team recovered from the disaster.

The Thunderbirds are famous for performing spectacular aerobatics at
near-supersonic speed while only inches apart. Here’s the incredible view
of what it looks like to fly at 600 miles per hour at arm’s length from
another plane.

(U. S. Air Force)

Air shows aren’t only about what’s going on in the sky. Some of the most popular air show stars aren’t the aerobatic pilots and planes, but the popular air show exhibits of the venerable war birds of World War II, which are still making the rounds thanks to dedicated mechanics and volunteers. Planes like the B-17 Sentimental Journey, and some of the memorable fighter planes of World War II, are on display at many air shows, as are exquisite antique civilian planes. Even the civilian classics are preserved so beautifully that they attract not only flying nuts but also antique auto buffs who appreciate historical vehicles that are lovingly maintained.

In this general discussion, the newcomer to flying could be intimidated by the amount of detail and multitude of tasks involved in a simple flight. None of this

should be off-putting to the would-be pilot. The aviation learning process is gradual and stair-stepped so that no new information or skill is added until each step is mastered. In fact, the vast amount of skill and knowledge required to be a good pilot is a major part of flying’s appeal. We can spend years and thousands of hours flying and still be able to continue to refine our abilities toward the ultimate goal—flying the perfect flight.

At the end of each leg of a trip, a pilot makes his approach to his destination airport. If he has done his preflight planning correctly, he’ll know something about the conditions at his destination airport. Airport directories published every few weeks by the FAA reveal any flight hazards at the airport and give pilots a sense of how local planes move around the traffic pattern.

While still a few miles from the airport, a pilot descends to the traffic pattern altitude, which is generally 1,000 feet above the ground. He radios the tower of his approach, and controllers alert him to other traffic in the area that could pose a collision threat. If there’s no tower at the field—the vast majority of all airports are these “uncontrolled fields”—the pilot uses a local frequency, which is indicated on aeronautical charts, to let other pilots in the area know of his arrival.

There are some prelanding checklists the pilot goes through to make sure the plane is ready for landing. The checklists are contained in the airplane’s Information Manual, but are frequently transcribed on a card that can be easily held in one hand. In a retractablegear airplane, one of the most important is the checklist item that reminds the pilot
to extend the gear. There are few things more embarrassing—and potentially dangerous—for a pilot to do than land a retractable-gear airplane without dropping the gear.

On final approach, pilob follow an imaginary glide slope down to the runway. The glide dope, which can be an angle of decent as shallow as 3 degrees, is often indicated by a set of Fights installed beside the run­way. Depending on the airplane’s height above or below that imaginary glide slope, the pilot sees varying color lights. It’s a simple, easy-to-use system that helps pilob by displaying two red danger Fights when the pilot is too low, two white caution lights when he’s too high, and one of each when he’s on the proper glide slope.

The pilot also extends the wing flaps, usually by a few degrees at a time to progressively slow the airplane as it gets closer to landing. Finally, the airplane turns into final approach, the sloping descent to the runway that gives the pilot time to prepare his thoughts for the task of landing. During final approach, the pilot will make small adjustments to his throttle setting to stay on a steady glide slope, and he’ll use the elevators, ailerons, and rudders to stay aligned with the center of the runway. In a small airplane, the pilot will hold a speed of about 60 knots, or 69 m. p.h., while in a jet, the speeds will be in the neighborhood of 150 knots, or almost 175 m. p.h.

When the plane gets to within 50 feet or so of the runway, the pilot gradually reduces the throttle setting and begins a smooth transition from a slight nosedown attitude to a slightly nose-up attitude. For a tricycle-gear airplane, it’s very important that the pilot not land the plane nose-wheel first. The plane can be badly damaged, and it’s even possible for the pilot to lose control of the plane.

Within a couple of feet of the ground, the plane will begin to settle to the runway. By this point in the landing, the throttle will be all the way off as the airspeed continues to slow. If the pilot has timed the landing properly, the plane will touch down on the runway just about the moment the wings begin to lose lift in a stall. Up to now, the pilot has been pressing the rudder pedals, but now that he’s on the runway he will move his feet to the top of the pedals and begin to apply the brakes. After all, he’s not flying any more—he’s taxiing.

After landing and pulling off the runway onto a taxiway, the pilot will do many of the same things he did at the beginning of the flight, except in reverse. He’ll read through his postflight checklist, contact the tower for permission to taxi, and head for the parking area to shut down the engine and attach the tie-down chains.

In addition to controlling the plane, navigating on course, and communicating with air-traffic controllers, pilots are always on the lookout for airplanes flying nearby. In purely statistical terms, the number of midair collisions is incredibly small, although the risk goes up dramatically near airports, which serve as convergence points for a large number of planes.

Still, it doesn’t take a near collision to get a pilot’s attention. Even airplanes that are just a dot in the distance can loom large as a potential threat. That’s because when airplanes are flying at sometimes hundreds of miles an hour, their head-on speed is so fast that pilots must have very quick reactions to stay out of danger.

Also, when airplanes are speeding through the sky, they lose a lot of maneuverability simply because of inertia. There’s not much that designers can do about that, so pilots must detect possible collision threats early in order to avoid them.

The greatest threat posed by other planes comes from those flying at the same altitude, so pilots spend most of their visual scanning time looking for planes flying at about the same level. They scan systematically, starting from one side of the airplane, moving slowly around the front, and then ending on the other side. The eyes are better able to spot traffic if they scan a small patch of sky for a few moments, then move on to the next patch. A quick sweep of the eyes from one side of the airplane to the other will seldom pick up hard-to-see traffic.

In a typical flight, a pilot, or his passengers, might identify as few as one or two other planes when flying in an unpopulated area, to dozens when flying over large cities. If a pilot spots an airplane, he must determine how far away it is and which direction it is headed. If he decides it won’t be a threat, he should continue to watch it anyway in case it changes course. If the “traffic,” as pilots call other planes, is too close for comfort or seems like it might become a problem in time, the pilot must decide what the best remedy is. In most cases, he’ll turn away from the other plane. In some cases he’ll climb or descend, though this could cause him to become a threat to another flight at a different altitude.

pleasure flight with a pilot cousin and some others from Santa Ana, California, to Catalina Island several years ago, bright sunshine filtering through Southern California smog signifi­cantly obscured visibility and forced us to squint into the light One thing we did make out: a Cessna 182 flashing past us in the opposite direction only a few dozen yards away. The combined speeds of the two planes probably approached 300 knots, or345 m. p.h. As I recall, once our hearts stopped pounding we called off the rest of the flight to Catalina and turned back toward the airport eager to be back on the ground where speeding Cessnas are less of a threat

FAA regulations have a good deal to say about how to avoid collision threats. Pilots usually temper those regulations with common sense and a dash of help from airtraffic controllers.

Once the preflight inspection is finished, everybody settles into their seats and fastens their seat belts, something the law and common sense require.

The pilot follows the manufacturer’s checklist for starting the engine, and with a turn of a key or the push of a starter switch, the propeller starts turning, slowly at first, then at an idling speed of about 1,000 revolutions per minute.

In order to keep the plane from moving too soon, the pilot holds the brakes by pushing on the top part of the rudder pedals. Each rudder pedal controls the brake on one wheel, so pressing them both holds both wheels still. When the pilot is ready, he releases the brakes to let the plane begin to roll forward.

Taxi!

Now, airplanes trying to maneuver on the ground aren’t quite as ungraceful as a pig on roller skates, but almost. Obviously, airplanes are designed to work best in the sky. But because they have to move on the ground as well, designers have had to arrive at a compromise between flying and taxiing, as pilots call moving on the ground. (Why use the word “taxiing” when they could simply call it driving? Because, as you’ve heard me say many times already, pilots insist on being different.) Most small airplanes can be maneuvered by turning the nose wheel using the rudder pedals or by “differential braking,” which means using one brake at a time to cause the plane to swing in one direction or another.

The pilot taxis the airplane along a network of “taxiways.” To keep pilots from accidentally taxiing onto runways where they might find themselves prop-to-prop with another airplane in the middle of a takeoff or landing, taxiways are clearly marked. At airports with control towers, a controller watches taxiing airplanes like a traffic cop.

Liftoff!

The taxiing ends at a waiting area very near the beginning of the active runway. Before takeoff, pilots usually make one more safety check called a “run-up” just to make sure that it is ready to operate properly at high power.

Again, following the checklist, the pilot will check that all doors and windows are closed and secure and that his flight controls move freely. He once again checks his flight instruments to verify they are conveying the correct information, and that his fuel gauges show a safe fuel level.

Pressing the brake pedals firmly, the pilot then pushes the throttle forward until the engine is turning between 1,500 and 1,700 rpm, depending on the manufacturer’s recommendation. This allows the pilot to check the engine’s performance at a throttle setting similar to those used in flight. At this high throttle setting, flight instruments and engine instruments are put through one more check before the power is reduced to a more placid, and far quieter, 1,000 rpm or so that is generally used as an idle setting.

When the run-up is finished, the plane pulls up in line behind other airplanes waiting for takeoff, and makes a radio call to the control tower. An airtraffic controller makes sure the runway is clear of airplanes and that no other airplanes are close to landing. If all is safe, the clearance is announced over the radio: “Cleared for takeoff.”

Taxiing an airplane—moving it on the ground—can feel some­thing like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time. That’s because most of us are used to two ped­als on the floor of a car that work far differently than the pedals in an airplane. Also, it’s very tempting to grab hold of the control column and use it like a steering wheel. Actually, the control column has no effect on turning the nose wheel and turning the airplane on the ground. Our familiarity with cars works against us in the airplane.

The pilot taxis onto the center line of the runway, pushes the throttle to full takeoff power, and the airplane surges ahead with a burst of acceleration. Small airplanes accelerate down the runway to speeds of 50 knots, or 58 m. p.h., or more. In the case of large jets, the wings don’t produce enough lift for flight until groundspeed reaches far more than 100 knots, or 115 m. p.h.

Between the time the pilot pushes the throttle forward for takeoff power and the time he reaches liftoff speed, which pilots call rotation speed, the pilot has to use his rudder pedals very carefully. He moves his feet down to the lower part of the pedal so he doesn’t press the brakes, which would slow his acceleration on the runway. At the very low speeds in the early moments of the takeoff the rudder won’t have much effect, but at higher speeds it does. It takes a bit of practice to steer the airplane straight during the takeoff roll.

When the airspeed indicator on the instrument panel shows that the plane has reached a safe speed to fly, the pilot gently pulls the control column toward him, and the plane’s nose wheel lifts off the ground as the tail drops. The wings’ angle of attack widens, lift increases, and the airplane rises off its main gear into the air.

The pilot holds the nose at an upward angle that allows the plane to climb quickly and efficiently. The pilot will hold that angle, with some slight variations and maybe a brief period of level flight, depending on other air traffic around the airport, until he reaches his cruising altitude.

Cruising altitude differs depending on the type of airplane, the length of the trip, the capability of the airplane, and even which direction the flight is taking.

For small planes with relatively low power, such as training airplanes and many less expensive models, the low power production of the engine will limit the altitude a plane can climb to. That means pilots have to plan on a relatively low cruising altitude.

For very short trips, it makes no sense to fly at a high cruising altitude if the flight can be made at a lower one. After all, for a short flight, the plane might no sooner reach cruising altitude than it must begin its landing descent. In those cases, a pilot should plan as low a cruising altitude as he can.

Some airplanes cannot be flown very high because of the FAA’s oxygen requirements. Because the air is so thin above 12,500 feet above sea level, the FAA requires that pilots breathe supplemental oxygen from a special system installed in the airplane after 30 minutes of flying above that altitude. Above 14,000 feet, the pilot must breathe oxygen at all times, and above 15,000 feet, everybody on the airplane must breathe supplemental oxygen.

If the plane is not equipped with supplemental oxygen, and most small planes are not, the pilot has to plan a cruise altitude that allows him to remain below 12,500 feet most of the time. Of course, larger planes are often pressurized, meaning they are equipped with a system that keeps the air of the cabin and cockpit breathable throughout the flight, regardless of altitude. (We’ll learn more about pressurization in Chapter 19.)

Finally, the FAA dictates which altitudes a pilot can fly at, depending on the direction of flight. For example, below 29,000 feet, if a pilot is flying eastward—that is, from a

“odd thousands plus 500 feet,” meaning 3,500 feet, 5,500 feet, 7,500 feet, and so on. If he’s flying degrees—he must fly at “even thousands plus 500 feet,” or 4,500 feet, 6,500 feet, 8,500 feet, and

Above 29,000 feet, the FAA puts more altitude between planes. Heading eastward, pilots must fly at 30,000 feet, 34,000 feet, 38,000 feet, and so on in 4,000-foot increments. Heading westward the altitudes are 32,000 feet, 36,000 feet, and so on in 4,000-foot increments.

Some airplanes are like sports cars and have plenty of power to spare, allowing them to climb very quickly, maybe 1,500 feet per minute. Others are like old VW Beetles, with just enough horsepower to get the job done. These airplanes, which include some of the smaller training models, might climb at 500 feet per minute, and even less on a very hot day. (Later, we’ll discuss the effect of hot weather on an airplane’s performance.)

Either when the takeoff roll begins or when the pilot reaches a distinctive landmark near the airport, he will start a stopwatch to track flight time. As we’ve already seen, time is a crucial element in accurate dead reckoning navigation, and if a pilot forgets to click the stopwatch, he will find himself playing catchup in his navigation.

On the Radio: Working with Air Traffic Control

During flight, pilots usually have to talk on the two-way radio with air-traffic controllers. For some reason, the idea of talking on the radio causes some pilots a lot of anxiety. Practice and experience usually calm their nerves.

Contrary to common opinion, by the time pilots have filled some pages of their logbooks with flying time, most understand that air-traffic controllers occupy a relatively small, albeit important, role in a typical flight. And with a little familiarity with the language pilots use to express themselves clearly, the give-and-take between pilot and controller becomes easy and friendly.

I’ve spent a great deal of time flying from high-altitude airports and experienced some nervous moments. Because the atmos­phere gets thinner at higher alti­tudes, airplanes at high-altitude airports are slower to accelerate during takeoff and require longer runways. Once in the air, air­planes climb more slowly than they do at a sea-level airport.

$bll, some of the most beautiful airports in the world ate at high altitudes, and pilots seldom regret the extra training and pracbce they need to fly out of them.

The typical radio call follows a basic pattern: Who is calling, where they are, and what they want to do. For example, here’s what a pilot’s radio call might sound like shortly after takeoff from Worcester airport in central Massachusetts for a flight to Portland, Maine:

“Boston Center, Cessna four-five-zero-one-Charlie, over Worcester at five thousand five hundred feet en route to Portland, request flight following.”

In a few words, the pilot, using the registration number of his airplane, Cessna 4501C, told a controller overseeing Boston-area air traffic that he was over the city of Worcester, he was flying at 5,500 feet above sea level, that his destination was Portland, and that he would like controllers to follow him on radar to his destination.

For some flights in good weather, controllers don’t have to agree to the flight-following service. It depends on their workload. But if she can manage it, the controller will agree to act as a sort of second set of eyes for the pilot.

If the controller does agree to follow the flight, the pilot will be assigned a distinctive “squawk,” or transponder code. A transponder is an on-board avionics device that amplifies the reflection of radar waves from an airplane. It makes the dot representing an airplane appear larger and brighter on a controller’s radar screen.

The individual code also helps controllers distinguish airplanes from one another, which is particularly helpful in crowded airspace. The controller’s radar screen automatically calculates the plane’s groundspeed, which pilots can ask for to see how accurately they predicted their speed. What’s more, some transponders tell controllers what altitude the plane is flying at, which helps controllers keep pilots away from other airplanes.

At the front of the plane, the pilot carefully inspects the engine, making sure the oil is full and there aren’t any leaks—the same sort of common – sense checks you might make on your car. But the airplane has something else up front, of course, that you don’t find on many cars: a propeller.

The propeller is vulnerable to a lot of damage and has to be inspected carefully, even though the check only takes a few moments. The propeller’s leading edge can become badly nicked and pitted from small stones that it sucks up. A large rock can even

crack a prop blade. So a pilot has to check the leading edge for dangerously deep pits or for cracks that could cause part of the prop to break off in flight.

.

That could be a catastrophe for two reasons. First, the prop’s thrust will decrease, maybe a lot, and that could mean the airplane can’t sustain enough speed to maintain a constant altitude. In that case, the airplane will begin do descend and the pilot will have to plan for an emergency landing.

Second, the loss of a part of the propeller will throw it out of balance and could cause an extreme vibration of the engine. If the pilot doesn’t respond quickly by reducing the throttle, the engine could be severely damaged or even damage the rest of the airplane with its shaking. Once the throttle is reduced to idle, or to whatever lower setting will cause the vibration to stop, the pilot will have to begin descending in order to maintain safe airspeed, and that means an emergency landing.

No matter what happens during flight to damage the prop, the result is an emergency landing. What better reason to carefully check the prop?

While he’s near the nose, the pilot will inspect the front wheel, or the “nose gear.” The tire should be fully inflated, have a safe amount of tread remaining, and there should be no oil or fluid leaking from the shock-absorbing piston that’s clearly visible just above the tire. Then, the pilot inspects the right wing in the reverse order he looked at the left one.

Finally, the pilot moves back over the empennage and around the stabilizers, checking that they are securely hinged and that they move freely. While he’s back here, he’ll disconnect the third and final tie-down.

By now, in the course of less than 10 minutes, the pilot has looked over the entire airplane, moving everything that moves, tugging on anything he can get a grip on to make sure it’s securely attached to the plane. Now it’s time for one last walk around the airplane. The pilot wants to make sure all the tie-down chains are removed, and the radio antennae are in place. And he wants to be darn sure the fuel caps are tightened all the way down. That completes the preflight inspection.

There’s a bi’t of folk wisdom among pilots claiming that the quickest simplest way to check a propeller for invisible cracks is with the flick of a fingernail. The theory goes that an undamaged propeller will ring like a bell, while a crack in the prop will cause more of a dull thunking sound. I’ve always found that a flick that is hard enough to "ring’ the prop is also hard enough to cause a good bruise under the fin­gernail. What’s more, I have a tin ear for a ringing prop, so I prefer to inspect the propeller visually.

Once he’s out at the airplane, the pilot begins a preflight inspection. Following a checklist supplied by the airplane manufacturer and contained in the airplane’s Information Manual, he first sits in the cockpit and checks the major electrical systems. He turns on the master electric switch, which turns on the juice to the instrument panel and the avionics.

In almost every case, the cockpit check will turn up no problems. So, with a checklist in hand to remind him of all the details, the pilot begins an exterior inspection. Often flight schools transcribe the checklist from the Information Manual onto a laminated card to make the checklist easier to handle and less vulnerable to fuel and oil spills.

For the most part, the preflight inspection is meant to make sure the mechanics have not made any serious mistakes and that other pilots who flew the airplane recently didn’t cause any damage. It doesn’t go much deeper than a surface inspection, but careful pilots can turn up some significant defects in time to get them corrected on the ground.

Depending on the model of airplane, the pattern and details of the exterior preflight will vary. In a small Cessna, for example, the preflight starts at the back of the left wing and progresses clockwise around the airplane.

After checking that the ailerons move easily, the pilot checks the wings’ leading edges. Here, he looks for any signs that the plane might have bumped into something while moving around the airport. It’s not uncommon to find small dents, called “hangar rash,” that come from being moved around during maintenance, but the leading edges should be relatively smooth.

The most important check of the left wing of most small planes is the “stall warning horn.” In a Cessna, this is a simple hole in the wing’s skin that must not be blocked by insects or litter. In other planes, it might be a simple switch that must be free to move easily.

Both of these devices trigger an audible warning to the pilot during flight if he is getting close to the critical angle of attack that could result in a stall (discussed earlier).

Also on the left wing is the fuel tank. The pilot will step up onto the wing for close inspection. Not only does he want to make sure the fuel cap is securely fastened, but he also has to make a careful check of how much fuel is in each tank. It isn’t enough to rely on the fuel gauge in the cockpit to make sure there’s enough fuel to finish the flight safely. The risk is simply too high to leave that up to a sometimes-faulty gauge. So airplane manufacturers provide a fuel stick—a graduated metal or wood stick that a pilot dips into the tank until it hits bottom. When it’s pulled out, the pilot can see the line of liquid and check it against markings that indicate how many gallons are in the tank.

The pilot then checks the fuel in a second way. A small valve located on the underside of the wing allows the pilot to pour some raw fuel from the tank into a clear plastic sampling cup. Any particles of dirt or globules of water will be easy to see.

Finally, before moving on, the pilot unhooks the tie-down ropes or chains and inspects the tires and brakes.

When a pilot puts together all the skills of maneuvering an airplane, understands how to navigate it from one airport to another, and has a sturdy understanding of the forces that affect the airplane in flight, he’s almost ready to start a cross-country (airport-to-airport) flight.

Let’s take a look at what happens in a typical flight, from the preflight checks to the landing.

Preflight: Keeping it Safe

There are a few things the pilot has to do even before the flight begins. First, he’ll have to have planned the cross-country flight based on the weather conditions and the weight limitations of the plane (see Chapter 14, “Navigation: Getting from Here to There Without Street Signs,” for details).

Second, pilots have to make sure that they are healthy and prepared to fly. Physical conditions that are only annoyances on the ground can be magnified by the effects of

altitude. Even some simple over-the-counter cold or allergy medications can slow down reactions and render a person unfit to fly until the medication fully wears off. Many pilots find it hard to admit to themselves that they are in no physical condition to fly, or that they lack the training and experience to make the flight safely. As we’ll discuss in Chapter 19, “Emergencies in the Air,” a better grasp of pilots’ limitations would prevent a vast number of aviation accidents.

Third, the pilot must make sure the airplane’s paperwork is in proper order. A plane can’t legally fly without its paperwork on board. A student pilot flying solo is required to take along his logbook containing a short entry by his flight instructor giving permission for the flight. And of course, just as a car driver has to have a driver’s license with him, all pilots must also carry their pilot certificate. For student pilot, the student pilot certificate and medical certificate are one and the same.

A last item of paperwork is to check the maintenance condition of the airplane. Depending on the flight school or fixed-base operator, the maintenance logs will be stored in different places, but they should always be checked before starting out to ensure that the airplane has been inspected within the last 100 hours of flight time and that any malfunctions noted by other pilots have been repaired.

Airplanes don’t simply fly over the ground. They fly in air that is always moving in the form of wind. And wind at high altitude always blows from different directions and at different speeds than the wind on the ground. Not only that, a plane flying at an altitude of 10,000 feet might feel strong wind from the south while a pilot at 5,000 feet might have very light winds from the west.

In navigating, the wind can never be left out of the equation. A flight from Boston, say, to New York’s Kennedy airport, which is toward the southwest, will arrive at different times depending on the wind speed and direction. A plane flying to the southwest will be pushed even faster by a northeasterly wind. For example, if an airplane is flying at 125 knots with a direct tailwind of 25 knots, the plane’s speed over the ground will be 150 knots, the combination of the two speeds.

By the same token, a plane flying at 125 knots into a 25-knot headwind will have a total speed over the ground of just 100 knots. The effect of headwinds and tailwinds explain how an airline flight can take off late and still arrive at the destination gate early.

So, no matter how fast an airplane’s “airspeed,” the speed it travels through the air, what’s most important is its “groundspeed,” or its speed relative to the ground. Groundspeed affects all aspects of a flight. If a pilot must travel at 125 knots into a 25-knot headwind, and he wants to fly to an airport 200 miles away, he can calculate that the flight will take two hours to complete. From that, he can determine the amount of fuel he has to have on board to finish the flight plus have a safe reserve. The longer the flight, the more fuel a pilot needs. The weight of the fuel he must carry for the flight—about six pounds per gallon—will affect the number of passengers or the amount of cargo he can carry, or more likely how often he will have to land to refuel.

Steering the Course

Of course, headwinds and tailwinds are not all that complicate dead reckoning. They do enter into calculations of flight speed and time, but what about course, the direction a pilot must travel to get from one airport to another? In calculating course, we

start to deal with crosswind. If we miscalculate the effects of crosswind, we will be blown off course and will run the risk of getting lost.

To understand the effects of crosswind on an airplane’s course, imagine rowing a boat across a river. Let’s say you want to row from a point on one shore to a point that is directly opposite. If you point your boat directly at your destination and begin rowing, you’ll soon notice that you’re not heading toward your destination at all. Instead, you’re being carried slowly downstream as you make your way across.

A smart boatman knows that if he wants to track a course directly across a flowing river, he has to point his boat’s nose upstream so that some of his energy is spent on counteracting the downstream drift. The downstream drift of the boat is exactly what happens to an airplane flying in a crosswind, or in any wind that is blowing even slightly from the side with a crosswind component. The strength of the crosswind and the amount of time the airplane spends in it will combine to push the pilot off course unless he points the airplane’s nose slightly in the direction the wind is blowing from.

Don’t be intimidated by the prospect of calculating course, track, or groundspeed. Over the years, pilots and seagoing naviga­tors have developed all kinds of tools to simplify the process. The traditional circular slide rule, which is still the greatest test of old-fashioned navigating skills, has been replaced by battery – operated flight calculators that make the job of flight planning a snap. The old-fashioned "plotter’"— a protractor that measures the basic course—is still in use, and takes only a few minutes to learn.

If you become a student pilot, you’ll learn how to estimate the wind’s speed and how to calculate which direction, or course, to steer to fly over a particular ground track. (The ground track is the direction you end up traveling when the airplane’s direction and speed and the direction and speed of the wind are all taken into account. Think of the ground track as the direction the airplane’s shadow travels.)

The Radio: All Navigation, All the Time

It wasn’t long after people started flying that inventors began looking for ways to put radio waves to work in helping with navigation. Their inventions are still used in the form of a worldwide network of radio beacons. Those broadcast

stations send out signals in a range of frequencies that special airplane radios receive and translate into information about an airplane’s track.

Airliners always carry far more fuel tban the amount needed to get from start to destination. Regulations demand that airliners have to be able to fly not only to the destination, but to a spe­cific alternate airport in case bad weather or something else forces the plane to divert its course. Once the plane gets to its alter­nate airport, it must be able to sustain a landing delay there before it runs low on fuel. FAA regulations make airline flying very safe.

The most common radio navigation instrument is the VOR, or the very-high frequency omnidirectional range. Its name comes from the part of the radio spectrum it broadcasts on, the very-high-frequency portion, and the fact that it broadcasts an omnidirectional signal that can be received no matter which direction a plane flies in relation to the broadcast station. In essence, a pilot dials in a particular course—called a “radial” in navigation parlance—and the VOR indicates which direction the pilot should steer to get to that course.

Some cockpits have radios that rely on a miraculously precise form of navigational aid called GPS, which stands for “global positioning system.” GPS uses a network of stationary satellites some 23,000 miles above the earth. Using precise clocks and complicated triangulation, GPS receivers are capable of pinpointing a location to within a few feet, and hold great promise to revolutionize the way we use radios to get around in airplanes.

Plane Talk

Because AM broadcast radio stations were so widespread in the Golden Age of Radio, back in the days of Jack Benny and Edgar Bergen, pilots began using a navigation device that homed in on ordinary broadcast radio signals. The instrument called an automabc direction finder, simply points directly to the location of the radio station’s broadcast antenna, which h also depicted as a symbol on an aeronautical chart. With a few mental gymnastics, AOFs can even be used to navigate a fairly accurate flight track. But to me the best thing about having an AOF in an airplane is that even if I don’t need to use it to navigate, I can listen to some good music on AM radio stations, as long as there’s nothing pressing to take care of at the moment

I’m no Luddite, and I’ve been accused of going overboard in adopting new technologies, but the cockpit is one of my few refuges from the press of new technology. When I fly, I prefer to turn back the clock to the days of charts, slide rules, and a pencil behind my ear. I enjoy dead reckoning and using pilotage because it forces me to look closely at the ground below and to search for the tiniest details of topography.

For me, old-fashioned dead reckoning and pilotage are akin to driving my truck down the back roads of New England, while modern aviation aids seem more like racing down the interstate. Still, I am intimately familiar with all the navigation equipment in every plane I fly. Though I may prefer not to pay a lot of attention to them all the time because I’m busy enjoying the pleasures of hands-on navigation, electronic flight instruments add a degree of safety that pilots a few decades ago could only dream of.

So You Think You’re Lost: Getting Back on Course

Once, while preparing a student for a test flight with an examiner, I reviewed with him the various methods of finding his course should he get lost. I knew it was a question he’d be asked, and he and I spent some time on it. At the end of the review, as a joke to lighten the pressure a bit, I said, “And if all else fails, land at the nearest landing strip and ask somebody on the ground where you are.”

Now, under the pressure of a test flight, the mind can behave in funny ways. Sure enough, the check pilot quizzed my student on how to get his bearings if he’s lost. “What’s the first thing you’d do once you think you might be lost?” she asked. My student, obviously rattled, blurted out, “My instructor said I should land at a nearby airport and ask somebody where I was.”

Fortunately, the check pilot recognized a case of jangled nerves when she saw it, and she drew the student out until he had laid out the full list of procedures. Later, he and I had a short briefing on how to recognize a joke when he heard one.

Getting lost is actually not that unusual for beginning pilots. The intricacies of navigation are only mastered after lots of practice, and that often means lots of getting lost. But to a seasoned pilot, getting lost should mean only a few moments of uncertainty before he identifies a terrain landmark on his chart.

Turbulence

On some flight»—say, flighb over the ocean or over uninterrupted forest—there are few prominent features that a pilot can rely on to stay on course. Such flighb could be beyond the skill level of some pilob, who should plan their flight on a less direct but safer route. The John F. Kennedy Jr. tragedy might have been related to this, and Chapter 10, "John F. Kennedy Jr.’s Final Flight," is devoted to a discussion of his fatal accident

If that fails, the pilot can turn to his on-board navigation radios for an almost surefire fix on his position. With the VOR, a pilot can find his direction from a specific navigation broadcast antenna, whose position is marked on the chart. The pilot can draw a line on his chart corresponding to that VOR direction, and he knows he has to be somewhere on that line. Then, he can tune in another VOR and determine his position relative to the second VOR. He can draw that line on the map. Where the two lines intersect is where he’s positioned.

It gets even easier if the first VOR is equipped with distance-measuring equipment, or DME. Not only does the VOR provide a course line, but the DME tells the pilot exactly how many miles he is from the VOR broadcast station. By pinpointing that position on his chart, the pilot knows where he is and he can get his bearings.

The details involved even in the few navigational techniques I’ve described here require a good deal of classroom study and then practice in the airplane with an instructor. But the main thing to remember is that getting lost need not be a disaster, and pilots are equipped with a host of options when the terrain begins to look unfamiliar. Of course, if you still can’t figure out where you are, just land at a nearby airport and ask somebody where you are!