Old Aviation Truths for a New Year

Old Aviation Truths for a New Year

As the first work week of the new year begins, here is a collection of thoughts we should already know but keep in mind as we fly in 2016.

Compiled by Rick Durden | January 2, 2016

Published in AVweb: link

Out of respect for you following a three-day weekend over the New Year, the thoughts are succinct and paragraphs short in a conversation about some of the basic truths of staying alive, happy and well when flying. Okay, there might be a few opinions mixed in.

Pushing It

The weather is not going to get better in another five miles.

If you are trying to scud-run, the weather will get worse.

Towers and power lines are affected by weather: They get taller and move nearer to highways, railroad tracks and airports when the ceiling gets very low.

You are most likely to discover an unlighted tower when you are trying to fly low because of weather.

Power lines are invisible against backgrounds other than blue sky. 

Scud running used to be a reasonable method of getting to one's destination in the flatlands of our country. Now, with the stunning proliferation of towers—particularly near highways—it is foolish. To do it with any regularity is suicidal.

One close encounter with a tower or a set of power lines appearing out of the haze or fog when scud-running, or going below minimums on an instrument approach, will give you years of the most hideously vivid nightmares you can imagine.

It's not the smartest thing in the world to duck under the glideslope after breaking out of the clouds so as to land short. Many more airplanes crash in the approach lights after an ILS than go off the far end of the runway. There are no prizes for the shortest landing following an ILS.

There is less gas in the tanks than you hope.

The worse the weather, the more likely it is that you will have a vocal passenger insisting that you go.

When you really, really want to make the trip, the weather will always be just a little worse than either your capabilities or those of the airplane.

It is invariably better to be fervently wishing you had flown than had driven.

The posters on the walls in Air Force Flight Ops rooms were right: There is no reason to fly through a thunderstorm in peacetime.

When making a decision regarding weather, an effective tool is to ask oneself if this might lead to looking stupid in the NTSB report.

Being introduced to flight in ice by an instructor under controlled conditions is hugely valuable and is far, far better than trying to learn about it vicariously or as you start getting ice on the airframe for your first time without an instructor next to you. Oddly, unless the airplane is approved for flight into known icing, that smart practice is illegal.

If you do get ice on the airframe, do not use the flaps on landing. Go fast and do not reduce the power below what you carried on final approach until the wheels touch the runway. Pulling the power off in the flare can cause you to stall and plummet the last few feet to the runway with enough force to collapse the landing gear.

It's always better to turn back too early than too late.

Reality

Departing with one component of a redundant system out of service will make the other one fail in flight.

When flying a tailwheel airplane in a crosswind, hard-soled shoes are an invitation to a groundloop.

Even pilots who fly every day need recurrent training. It's the stuff you don't do every day—emergency procedures—that will eat your lunch.

Despite what fighter pilots say, it's better to be embarrassed than dead.

Saying, "any traffic please advise" on Unicom is a waste of words and air time—it gains you nothing that you would not get from a simple position report and it aggravates enough pilots that those who would be of interest to you may say nothing.

Store the batteries backwards in the flashlight; that way, if the switch is turned on, the batteries won't go flat.

A turning propeller is invisible. Nonpilots are known to walk into them. So are pilots.

The small problem with your airplane that you have delayed fixing will become a major problem at the most remote airport on your trip.

Trying to argue with a controller over the radio is akin to shaking your fist at bad weather; you can't win and you run the risk of making things worse.

An intermittent problem will remain so until you throw nearly enough money at it to replace the entire system involved.

Lean-of-peak engine operation is the best way to run your fuel-injected engine if you have an engine monitor. Those who haven't caught on yet may be unable to learn or just unwilling.

There is no need to say "with you" when contacting a new controller. It's redundant, uses up air time on increasingly crowded frequencies and most controllers are sick of hearing it.

The world looks different when flying very low, especially when trying to maneuver. That’s a major reason why turning back after an engine failure on takeoff, when you haven't practiced it, has a distressingly high fatality rate.

While speed may be life to fighter pilots, that's only in combat. The reality is that appropriate speed is life: too little after takeoff kills, as does too much on landing. Extra speed on final is not your friend. Extra speed on touchdown is your enemy, because force is a squared function. You've got enough energy to dissipate on landing when touching down near stall speed; anything faster is adding to your challenge.

The Really Unpleasant Stuff: Crashes

Fuel tanks in front of the cabin or in wing leading edges are an invitation to post-crash fire.

Nylon and polyester clothing melts in the presence of intense heat and sticks to you, causing serious burns.

It's been said by so many because it's so true: Fly the airplane all the way into the crash. So long as it's moving, never give up trying to control the airplane and making it go where you want to go.

Not insisting that your passengers wear their shoulder harnesses should be a criminal offense; not wearing yours has proven terminally foolish for too many pilots. Shoulder harnesses can be retrofitted on all seats for all single-engine Cessna airplanes (and the Skymaster series) back to the 1945 model year. (The hard points were put in at the factory. Shoulder harnesses were always offered as an option, but nobody bought them.)

Especially in a twin, if you have to put the airplane onto the ground, do it as nearly wings-level as possible and do not stall the airplane prior to touchdown. Airplanes, even old ones, are surprisingly crashworthy (if shoulder harnesses are worn) but not if you hit upside down or with a substantial vertical-force vector—as after stalling.

If you have to land the airplane gear up, do so on a hard surface runway. If you screw up and stall, the runway will translate the force into a slide. On grass or dirt there is the chance the surface will compress slightly, forming a crater and then stop the airplane quickly or flip it, injuring the occupants.

That being the case, to the extent I have been able to chase accident records, there hasn't been anyone hurt in a gear-up landing in more than 50 years—so long as the pilot did not try to "save the prop" by shutting down the engine(s). There have been a number of fatal accidents when pilots shut down the powerplant and proceeded to crash short of the runway or go off the end at high speed.

Going around if the approach isn't just right is never an indication of incompetence unless, of course, you are about to run out of fuel.

There are Neanderthals in this world who will gather to critique landings and make snide remarks about pilots who go-around. There have been accidents at flight schools and airports where this practice takes place because pilots pressed on and landed out of a bad approach because they knew they would be laughed at for going around. There is reason to believe that pilots who criticize other pilots for making a go-around will spend eternity in one of Dante’s circles of hell reserved for those who drive airplanes rather than fly them.

Successfully managing energy in the process of coming to a stop is the key to any landing—or accident. Slow is always better than fast when it comes to surviving. Going off the end at 25 knots is far better than crashing short of the runway at flying speed.

Even the slowest airplane goes fast enough to kill you and thus the most modest trainer deserves the same operational respect as the Mach 2 fighter.

Pilots

A pilot with any poetry in his or her soul knows that it is always appropriate to quietly thank the airplane for a flight after putting it away. In fact, some assert that those who do not do so may have no soul and should not be allowed in the sky.

The cliché is depressingly true: The chances of making a superb landing are inversely proportional to the number of people watching.

If a pilot has not practiced something, the accident reports make it clear that the chances that he or she can do that something in an emergency are lousy—be it scud run, turn back following an engine failure after takeoff or stop the prop and make a safe landing when the gear won't come down. A lot of people get killed each year trying to do something brand new when they have an emergency. So, go with what you know and have practiced, even if it means damaging the airplane. That's why insurance exists.

When in doubt about a clearance, ask. Even a snide remark from a controller (which happens to be rare) is not nearly as embarrassing as a violation for deviating from a clearance or, worse yet, smacking into another airplane.

Pilots who have spent time in gliders and tailwheel airplanes tend to be much better stick and rudder pilots than those who have not. Significantly better.

Most pilots who make jokes about helicopters are secretly jealous and deep down wish they had the opportunity or money to fly them regularly.

If you do something moronic down low, such as buzz someone or something, don't be the least bit surprised if someone complains. With cell phone cameras and small video cameras, there's a good chance that when they do complain they'll also have the evidence to convict you. Remember, in the PSA San Diego midair, the 727 descended vertically, on fire, for fewer than 30 seconds. There are good-quality photographs of it. And that was nearly 40 years ago. Even more people carry cameras now.

Of Flight and Life

It is almost invariably worth it to get up very early so as to be the pilot in command of an aircraft taking off at sunrise. At the moment of liftoff the world transforms itself from black and white to full color. It is especially true in a balloon.

We are always ambassadors for aviation, for good or for evil, simply because there are so few of us. Our actions are watched and we are the source of comment, often when we least expect it or maybe even want it. Therefore we have no choice but to be a good example all the time.

The round rainbow around your airplane's shadow on a cloud is called a glory. The first time you see one the name will make eminent sense.

Pushing the prop to high rpm on downwind makes much more noise than you realize and pisses off far more people than you can imagine. And they are the ones who will vote to close your airport.

Spend as much time as possible on grass runways. They are good for the aviator's soul. If you can, take a walk on one (yes, avoid airplanes) and think about all of those who have come before you to use it as a place to reach into the sky. You might also consider it to be more than just a strip of grass, but as a place from which you can launch in the most modest of airplanes and proceed to go anywhere in the world.

No matter how modest, an airplane that lifts you into the sky is a real airplane. It doesn't get any more real than that; there are only differences in degree.

There is nothing more beautiful than this world when viewed from aloft.

Rick Durden holds an ATP with type ratings in the DC-3 and Cessna Citation, is a CFII and is the author of The Thinking Pilot’s Flight Manual or, How to Survive Flying Little Airplanes and Have a Ball Doing It, Volumes 1 & 2.