October, 2008 Vol. V, No.
9 |
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Welcome
to the
Over the
Airwaves
aviation journal. This complimentary e-publication
is prepared monthly for pilots and aviation enthusiasts around the
world. Its aim
is to promote
flight safety, encourage students and new pilots, and to build
enthusiasm for aviation in general.
The Icing Debate? Here's a sure-fire way to kick off a fiery debate midst a bunch of pilots, CFIs, and FAA legal eagles. Ask if it is "legal" to fly into sub-freezing clouds in an aircraft not certified for flight into known icing conditions. Curiously, this question still remains unanswered after literally years, no . . . decades of discussion and debate by aviation experts from FAA HQ to the over 50 regional FAA FSDOs (Flight Standards District Offices), to the NTSB, and to the FAA's network of Administrative Law Judges. OTA readers will recall that I begged the question early in 2006 when I sent a letter to the FAA Regional Counsel, Northeast Region seeking an official letter of interpretation of known icing conditions. They responded in a letter dated June 6, 2006 that sent shockwaves throughout the GA industry. The letter said this, in essence: "Reduced to basic terms, known icing conditions exist when visible moisture or high relative humidity combines with temperatures near or below freezing." Needless to say, this FAA's response furthered muddied the debate with their inclusion of "high relative humidity" in the definition of known icing. Anybody know how to identify areas of "high relative humidity" . . . hmmm? Thanks to the efforts of AOPA and many others, the FAA recently rescinded this June 6 letter. Thus, the known icing debate continues. Who cares . . . the matter is moot, anyway. It should come as little surprise to any experienced instrument pilot that this definitional icing debate rages on year after year, decade after decade simply because it defies resolution. Still in all, the debate will continue as evidenced by the FAA's current effort to get yet another known ice definition through the federal Notice of Proposed Rule Making (NPRM) process. Whichever way this NPRM process comes out, nobody with an ounce of aeronautical intelligence would dare say that all sub-freezing clouds cause ice to adhere to an aircraft in flight. Ergo, not all sub-freezing clouds constitute known icing conditions. Case closed. Science has proven that cloud temperatures below -25d C are simply too cold to produce airframe icing. We also know that sub-freezing clouds produced by water droplets below 50 microns in diameter do not produce airframe icing. These droplets are simply too small to adhere to a hard surface like an airplane wing, airframe, or propeller. Sure, lots of sub-freezing clouds can produce airframe icing just like lots of turbulent air can produce bone-jarring bumps, micro-bursts, and thunderstorms. Fortunately, nobody in the FAA hierarchy had the very bad sense to rule that we pilots must remain clear of turbulent air! Similarly, low IFR and mountain obscurating conditions can and often do result in collisions with terrain. Fortunately for us, however, no weather-challenged FAA official or legal eager-beaver ever had the very bad sense to rule it illegal to operate in low IFR or around mountains capped with clouds. So what does all of this mean for the proficient instrument pilot? So what do we instrument pilots who operate non-known ice certified aircraft do this winter? Do we remain clear of all sub-freezing clouds fearing some enforcement action by an over-zealous FAA operations inspector? Do we really turn off the ILS final approach course inside the marker if a thin layer of sub-freezing wispy clouds cross our path? Do we continue to bump along at the MVA (minimum vectoring altitude) or MEA (minimum enroute altitude) if all that stands between us and clear, smooth VFR conditions above is a 200' layer of sub-freezing clouds? Do we fly 200 miles to our alternate to avoid descending through that same 200' cloud layer? Let's get real . . . Let's get real here. The truth is, nobody really cares what we instrument pilots do aloft, winter or summer, as long as we comply with FAR 91.123 (compliance with ATC issued clearances, etc.) and do not make a nuisance of ourselves or pose a risk to other aircraft, our passengers, or people or property on the ground. If we want to fly in clouds, regardless of temperature and we have the ATC clearance and qualifications to do so, have at it!
The real truth is, FAA certificate action (even though we may deserve it) is not likely to result . . . even if we declare an emergency and require special ATC handling to help resolve our predicament . . . UNLESS we cause serious problems to another nearby aircraft, the ATC system or, worse, we wind up in a farmer's field with a badly bent aircraft. A word of caution here. I would not tempt enforcement fate by taxiing in on the ramp with big chunks of icing falling off my non-known ice certified airplane where an over-zealous FAA inspector may be standing around! Hey, I'm all for rules - especially those that pertain to the safety of flight. Foremost among these rules, for me, is FAR 91.13. We should NEVER engage in careless and reckless activity in our airplanes. The key here, of course, is to know what constitutes careless and reckless activity, such as flying into sub-freezing clouds in a non-KI aircraft, without having a golden backdoor. In summary, winter is coming again. Cold clouds will be forming just as fast as VP candidate, Joe Biden, flashes a smile . Life goes on. If you need to penetrate a sub-freezing cloud in your non-KI aircraft and you know, for certain, that warmer air or VFR conditions exist immediately above or below that cloud, and in the absence of icing AIRMETS or icing PIREPs, go for it. Don't let the cloud temperature alone be your determining factor. As I say this, I remember well the words of Mark Twain who said, "People who love sausage and respect the law should never watch either one being made." Should some knuckle-headed FAA Administrator rule that sub-freezing clouds alone constitutes known ice, we will be in far worse shape than any user-fee system could ever produce! Fly safe, fly smart.
If you can't perform greaser landings . . . blame your mother! Like most active flight instructors, I spend a good deal of time pondering why some student (and veteran) pilots have more difficulty than others in achieving smooth landings every time. Suddenly last week, I discovered the answer. Pilots who spent more time as children on playgrounds have more difficulty learning to land than pilots who did not!
Curiously, landing-challenged pilots do the same thing in airplanes. Why? Because that's the way we were taught to go down playground slides. We start down the final approach enroute to the waiting runway below. Reaching the runway threshold, we flare, then allow the airplane to plop down to the surface in one single all-or-nothing event. Sometimes it works; most of the time it doesn't. Curiously, our childhood experiences on playground slides leaves a lasting but incorrect notion that landing an airplane is simply an uncontrolled crash on the runway rather than a controlled descent that allows our wheels to touch the runway as gently as a butterfly with sore feet. Changing our thought process! Rather than descending off the bottom of the playground slide, our landing flare should be thought of as a mini-flight itself. We use the descent portion of the landing sequence to bring us down to the level of the runway. Then we resume flying! Yep . . . we start flying again, but this time only a foot or two above the runway. I call this "hover-taxiing." We dial in a tiny bit of power at the end of the flare in one final effort to align the airplane perfectly above the runway centerline with the nose pointing directly down the runway. All of this, of course, is accomplished before the tires kiss the runway. Practice this technique each time you land. Avoid the temptation to plop your aircraft on the runway immediately following the flare (as a child does when reaching the end of the slide). When you do, every landing will be a greaser! Understanding the Garmin G1000 Glass Cockpit - Your key to future aviation! Anybody who expects to be flying a production aircraft built after the year 2005, whether Cessna 172 or Boeing 787, had better become conversant with so-called glass cockpits. Arguably the most popular of all glass cockpits, leastwise for the GA crowd, is Garmin's G1000 setup.
The heart of the G1000 (Nav III) system lies in its 13 line replaceable units (LRU), listed in the text box below. These LRUs work together to provide the pilot with all of the critical data necessary to operate his aircraft.
While each of these 13 LRUs play a key role in the operation of the G1000 system, three of them take center stage. They are the GRS 74A Air Data Computer, the GRS 77 Attitude and Heading Reference System (AHRS), and the GMU 44 Magnetometer. The function of each is summarized below:
The Garmin G1000 system provides more information to the pilot faster and more accurately than all of the avionics aboard NASA's early generation space shuttles. Similarly, this system out-paces the cockpits of all but the latest generation corporate jets and airliners.
The future is now.
If we're flying these technological wonders, we better have
a working knowledge of how they work! Remember, the
Private Pilot Practical Test Standards requires us to have a
working knowledge of all aircraft systems of the airplane
we're flying! Instrument Scan - Our key to staying alive in the clag! It is no secret that there is a lot happening when buried in the clag. There is the sound of wind rushing by the aircraft. ATC is barking heading and altitude assignments in our ear along with amendments to our flight plan. Turbulence and the ever-present threat of icing serve as serious distractions to the task of remaining upright in the clouds. So, with all of this happening, where should we be focusing our attention? Answer: On the gauges! Regardless of what's happening all around us, job one for us is to "fly the airplane." And this means maintaining our assigned altitude, attitude, heading, and airspeed. Sound simple? For many who have not developed an effective instrument scan, keeping the airplane where it is supposed to be while in the clouds can be a daunting task.
In fact, if we review the circumstances leading up to most fatal IFR accidents, we quickly discover that control of the aircraft was lost long before the airplane hit the ground. While sounding like I have an effective grasp of the obvious, there is real meaning to this observation. Take icing-related accidents, for example. In most such accidents, airframe icing didn't cause the pilots' loss of control. Instead, the pilot precipitated the wreck by not altering his control inputs in response to the ice-induced changing characteristics of his airplane. In such instances, a loss of airspeed is our aircraft's first response to accumulating ice. Reduced airspeed causes a loss of altitude (unless the autopilot is on). Four of the six instruments illustrated above will instantly reflect this condition. Did we see this happening quickly enough to take appropriate action? Pitching up to maintain altitude? With three of the four changing instruments telling us that we're descending, we better do something more than simply pulling back on the yoke to maintain altitude. Yep . . . power! Unless we add power in response to ice-induced loss of airspeed and altitude, we're risking a stall. Hopefully, we have sufficient power in reserve to accomplish this. No more power?? Most singles and light piston twins operate close to maximum available power while in cruise. Thus, adding power to maintain altitude, particularly in an airplane accumulating ice, may be a weak option. Now what? Back to the gauges! As airspeed decays while working hard to maintain altitude, we're now faced with another more immediate threat. We glance down at the heading indicator and note that our direction of flight is changing. This means we're in a bank. All six instruments are now changing in response to our accumulating ice. Our attention is diverted as we ponder our dilemma. Our once effective instrument scan, honed on many hours of flying simulators and training behind view limiting devices, is seriously compromised by the fear that is rising in our brain. Our hands begin to sweat, our voice trembles as we press the mike button and alert ATC to our dilemma. The curious paradox!
We panic, then we succumb as our fingers slither slowly off the yoke. We resign ourselves to certain death. Chalk up another box office hit for Hollywood! Naturally, it doesn't have to be this way. The solution, of course, can always be found on the gauges . . . and our proper interpretation of what they're telling us. We become spring-loaded to address what EACH instrument is telling us and, equally important, we respond with appropriate control inputs. In summary, we need to become not only proficient on the gauges, we must develop the discipline to keep these instruments upper most in our minds as we deal with the challenges of any form of flight, whether in turbulence, icing, thunderstorms, or in the gentle skies characteristic of most IFR flights!
Editorial Reader Comment
If you make the training
challenging and enjoyable, instead of just
memorization and mechanical, more students would
actually work to find the time and funds to finish. So few students were
really encouraged; they'd just read strings of
comments on how impossible it is to fly these days -
expense, crowded airspace, regulations, etc. Not
everyone of course, but a sadly high percentage of
forum posts.
IFR - Machinegun Style! If you think you're IFR-proficient, try airport-hopping within the NYC Class B airspace when the visibility sucks and the ceiling is down to 500 feet. It's on days like this when the NY Air Route Traffic Control Center has inbound arrivals lined up 100 deep in all directions and controllers take no prisoners. These were precisely the conditions when Dave Miller, a very capable 300 hour IFR-rated pilot from Alabama engaged me to take him on the New York City TRACON airport tour late last month.
This leg of our planned flight to LaGuardia, Kennedy, Newark, and Teterboro went along swimmingly. We landed right on schedule despite being turned off the LGA ILS Runway 22 final approach course once due to jet traffic close in trail. Following lunch at LGA's famed Marine Air Terminal and being refueled, we secured our IFR clearance over to JFK and taxiied to Runway 13. That's when the first wrinkle in our plans occurred. The ground controller advised us that JFK couldn't take us for at least 1 hour. We pulled over to the side, shut down our engine, and contemplated an alternate plan. I called Flight Service via cell phone and filed a plan to Farmingdale's Republic Airport located at 40 miles east of JFK. My plan was to get back in the air and sweet talk our way into JFK. Aloft a few minutes later, we discovered that the busy TRACON controller would have nothing to do with our request for a destination change to JFK. I then requested and received vectors to Newark and dialed in the Newark ATIS. Keep in mind that NYC was buried in a 500' foot overcast ceiling, rain, turbulent skies, and lousy visibility the entire day. It took a minute or two to listen to the Newark ATIS, to reset the Avidyne glass panel mounted GPS, and to bring up the approach plate for Newark's ILS Runway 4L. Enroute to Newark, the controller called and advised that he could slip us into JFK. We graciously accepted his kind offer, then began to dial JFK into the box, listen to the JFK ATIS, and set up for the approach into JFK.
Our hand-off to JFK
approach produced the next wrinkle in our day. The JFK
approach controller issued us vectors to Newark. I
reminded the controller that we
"No way," said the JFK controller. "We've got over 100 inbounds, many of them in holds waiting to get into JFK." Rather than debating the matter with this clearly over-worked and somewhat stressed controller, we took the vector to Newark and was handed off to a lady controller who, in turn, sent us packing to a holding pattern some 15 or 20 miles south of Newark. "Hold on the Coltsneck VOR 130 radial, 10 mile legs," she said. Several minutes later, the controller told us to expect to remain in the hold for about 1 hour due to heavy inbound Newark traffic. "Ah, Approach, how about Teterboro instead," I asked? "No problem, fly heading 330 degrees, vectors Teterboro." Again, we reset the navigation box, dialed up the Teterboro ATIS, found the approach plate for the ILS approach and began to brief that plate. As fate would have it , the lady controller then called and advised that she could get us into Newark. We accepted a new vector direct to Newark, punched in Newark's numbers into the GPS, revisited the Newark ATIS, pulled out the Newark ILS 4R approach plate (again), and readied ourselves for the approach. By now, aside from a one hour lunch break at LaGuardia, we had been aloft in solid IMC for nearly five hours since leaving Lancaster earlier in the day. On the way into Newark, the NY approach controller instructed me to copy a telephone number to call when on the ground. Now, as any experienced pilot knows, it's never a good sign when ATC gives you a telephone number to call. Following an uneventful approach and landing at Newark, I called the telephone number as instructed. The friendly manager of the NYC TRACON answered. I gave him our tail number and asked if there was a problem. He replied, "Not on your end. I just want to hear your side of the story." He was obviously concerned about how we had obtained our clearance into JFK. Apparently the LaGuardia departure controller hadn't coordinated our JFK clearance properly, which left the JFK approach controller a bit confused and perplexed - which is never a good thing to have happen. We discussed the matter for several minutes, after which he thanked me and assured us that we had done nothing wrong. Moral of the story . . .
Being able to fly on
the gauges in IMC weather is one thing. Doing this
efficiently while bouncing around between the four busiest
airports on the globe on an IFR day while ATC tosses in a
few curve balls is another matter altogether. If you are ever aloft on an IFR flight plan on an IMC day anywhere near congested airspace, you had better have far more skills than it takes to pass an instrument checkride. Simply speaking, maintaining altitude and an assigned heading has to be a no-brainer while we fumble through our flight bag for the correct charts, listen to the ATIS, brief the approach, and set up the radios, etc. Dial in a bit of turbulent weather, add some icing, and have a disgruntled controller barking in our ears could quickly turn our routine IFR flight into an aerial nightmare! Similarly, ATC has no time for errant pilots when IMC conditions prevail anywhere. While most controllers allow for a little miss-step here and there, busy Class B controllers often shoot their wounded rather than allow some ditzy pilot to screw up their plans. A bit of shameless self-promotion . . . There is only one way to become truly proficient on the gauges. That way is to fly into the inferno and dance with the devils while you put a sharp edge on your IFR skill sets. One way to do this is to take the NYC TRACON tour with me. To learn more about this tour, click HERE. P.S. One last thing . . . The alternator on the aircraft we used for this trip toasted on the very next day. Had this happened over NYC the day before, the required pilot skill sets would have ratcheted up substantially!
Click HERE to see what lies in store for us in aviation!
Thanks to
OTA
reader, Mark Croce of Buffalo, NY for sharing this
remarkable video with us.
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The "wow" factor! The pilot makes a high-speed pass over the runway about 30 to 40 feet above ground level (agl), then pitches upwards abruptly near the end of the runway into a steep climb. During this steep climb, the airplane was observed performing an "aileron roll to the right." The "folly" factor! At the completion of the roll, the airplane appeared to be in a level attitude when a slight movement was observed, "as if it hit turbulence," said one witness. The airplane subsequently descended in a nose-low attitude, eventually descending below a tree line. Another witness said, ". . . the airplane rolled upside down and back upright before it descended below a tree line in a nose low attitude and that the engine was running like it was at full power until they heard the impact." Tragically, both the pilot and his passenger died as a result of blunt force trauma.This sad event happened this past May near the Green Mountain Airport (WA67), Vancouver, Washington.
What really happened? The NTSB found nothing to suggest a mechanical problem with the airplane. Instead, the pilot, despite his 20,000 hours of experience, managed to get his airplane to stall with insufficient altitude to recover. Why he did it is anybody's guess. Was he inexperienced in a Yak 52? Did he become distracted or disoriented while on the top side of the roll? Was he overtaken by an overwhelming desire to impress the crowd? Perhaps his passenger panicked and grabbed the stick or rudder? We'll never know. Regardless of the reason, with insufficient altitude to recover, this pilot clearly tempted fate by not having a golden "backdoor" if something should go wrong. In this case, his "backdoor" should have been a minimum of 3,000' AGL or more. This pilot is not alone! Many of us pilots, myself included, have come screaming down the runway and, upon reaching the end, pulled up smartly to impress the crowd. So far so good. The problem begins, however, almost immediately after the pull-up as the wings' critical angle of attack is exceeded (regardless of airspeed). Suddenly our winged wonder turns into a concrete block while the twisting effect of the engine and other aerodynamic forces produces a turning effect that can only be offset by proper rudder inputs. The correct control input would be to push the yoke or stick forward to eliminate the stall, then resume straight and level flying. Imagine, however, if the pilot induces a roll at the top of this climb (as the pilot in our tragic event likely did), all bets are off! Unless one is a trained aerobatic pilot, the likely outcome is . . . . well, you figure it out! So here we have another sad tale where two lives are needlessly lost and a crowd full on onlookers forms yet another negative opinion of general aviation! Aero-News.Net Features OTA in Podcasts
"Cold is Coming" is the latest in a series of podcasts Bob Miller has been doing with Aero-News.Net's Paul Plack. You can hear, or download for later listening, these 15 minute interviews and any of the previously conducted podcasts by clicking on the titles below: Podcast Titles[Click on desired titles - several minutes may be required to download.] Titles in RED are new since the last OTA. By the way, Aero-News.Net is a FREE daily online publication that is packed with aviation related news. It is the first thing I read every morning. You can log on to Aero-News.Net and subscribe for your free subscription by clicking HERE. Overloaded . . . what do you expect?
"What went wrong," is often the first question asked? "Was there a malfunction with the aircraft?" More often than not, the problem is not with the airplane. Instead, some hapless pilot ignored the operating instructions and/or limitations published in the Pilot's Operating Handbook (POH). Take, for example, the flight of a Cirrus SR22 taking off from Eagle Creek Airpark (EYE), Indianapolis, Indiana on August 28, 2006 enroute to Hilton Head Airport (HXD), Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. After topping off the tanks and loading baggage, the pilot along with his 29 year-old son, the pilot's wife, and a friend boarded the airplane. The total estimated weight of the aircraft was 3,715 pounds, including 262 pounds placed in the aft baggage compartment. The Maximum Takeoff Weight (MTOW) specified in the POH for this aircraft is 3,400 points. The maximum allowable weight in the baggage compartment is 130 pounds. Get the picture? They took off 315 pounds overweight with 132 pounds more than allowed in the baggage compartment. Off they go! The took off, climbed through a low cloud layer, then leveled off at 4,000 feet. The pilot's son, who was flying in the right seat, reported that the takeoff and initial climb were uneventful until reaching about 4,000 feet. That's when he noted a change in the sound of the engine and observed his father struggling to control the airplane. The son also reported that the airplane went through a series of three quick rolls, then the wing dipped down. He further reported that his father "was pulling backwards on the control yoke of the aircraft trying to keep the aircraft's nose up." The son said that he "grabbed the right side yoke and attempted to help his father keep the aircraft nose elevated." While all of this was happening the pilot made an emergency call over the radio but there was no response. The pilot's son also reported that the airplane then entered a counterclockwise spin. His father instructed him to pull the parachute handle. What witnesses on the ground saw . . .
Another witness heard a loud "pop" and saw the airplane "falling through the clouds with the parachute deployed about "3/4 open by the time it hit the water." The pilot died in the crash. The other three passengers survived with serious injuries. So what REALLY happened? Nobody will know what really happened on the fateful day. The 66 year old pilot had 2,570 total hours with 365 hours in Cirrus SR22 aircraft. He had also completed Cirrus factory training in the SR22 and had been deemed "on top of his game" by a Cirrus Standardized Instructor Program (CSIP) pilot. The NTSB report confirmed finding no mechanical anomalies in the aircraft.
What can we learn from this tragic mishap? Two problems immediately come to mind. The first and most obvious is the overweight condition of the airplane. The second is the pilot's apparent failure to keep the wing's angle of attack below the critical (stalling) angle of attack. According to the NTSB report, the airplane's center of gravity, despite its overweight condition was well within the proper loading envelope. Thus, there is nothing to suggest that the airplane was out of balance. Instead, it simply required either more power or less pitch angle to remain controllable. Assuming the aircraft was already at full power (in the climb), the only action necessary to maintain aircraft control would have been to lower the nose. We cannot determine why this was not done.
As in all such tragedies, it's easy to play "Monday morning quarterback." In truth, we'll never know all of the factors that contributed to this or any other fatal aviation accident. The facts in this case, however, strongly suggest that there was a very serious flaw in the aeronautical decision making (ADM) at work in this flight. It doesn't take but a minute or two to add up the weights of passengers and baggage and make a simple weight and balance calculation. Okay, so some of us occasionally launch a couple of pounds overweight (never a good idea, plus illegal), but 315 pounds overweight in a 4-place aircraft is tempting fate beyond any level of reasonableness. Similarly, despite lots of piloting experience, the PIC of this flight somehow allowed this aircraft to slow, enter a stall, followed by a spin. Had adequate airspeed been maintained through proper pitch control, this unfortunate condition would not likely have happened. Is Flight Service Getting Any Better???
I used these survey results as the basis for an article I wrote on the subject in the October issued of IFR Magazine. You can view this article by clicking HERE. Helpful Sponsor Please support OTA's helpful sponsors by clicking on the image below where you will find ordering information. This is is a first-class publication that can help the proficient pilot become even better!
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It should come as little surprise to the experienced aviator that few things in life change as quickly as an airplane in flight. The weather, the machine, and the pilot himself are in a constant state of flux. Each reacts with the other in an ever-moving dynamic that, for the most part, ends as predictably as it began. There is a another dynamic slithering around in the background of every flight that has the potential of shutting down what otherwise should have been a very routine day aloft. That dynamic is paper. You know, the kind of paper customarily referred to federal aviation regulations or FARs for short. This, of course, comes as no surprise to us as proficient pilots. We operate in a world of complex rules and regulations, most of which are ultimately intended to ensure the safest flying environment possible. We accept these rules and regulations as part of the price we pay for the privilege of flying. But is this price getting too high?
The process itself was quite pleasant. The FAA inspector, a well-respected member of our local FSDO, set the stage for what quickly became a very educational session. My colleague, too, was eager to learn and, of course, return himself to good standing with the FAA. It didn't take long before things began to get dicey, however. The inspector's questions began to bore down into far more detailed aspects of aircraft systems which, of course, every pilot must know. The inspector said, "Explain to me the major electronic components that make up the G-1000 glass cockpit system in your airplane." He then asked, "How does the AHRS (automatic heading reference system) gather its data and how does the air data computer compile and translate its airspeed and altitude information to the display panels?" Remember, we're talking private pilot and Cessna 172 here, not an ATP piloting a Citation X! My colleague stumbled a few times in his unsuccessful attempt to recall the intricacies of the this electronic wizardry. The questions then moved to emergency procedures. "Recite for me the first three or four steps you would take should an engine fire in flight be encountered," he asked. My colleague quickly replied, "Pitch down, fuel off, mixture idle cut-off, make May-Day call, master switch off, look for a safe landing area," just as I had prepped him earlier. "Nope," said the inspector. He then asked my colleague to open his POH and locate the section dealing with an in-flight engine fire and to recite the first several items shown in bold print. These items were different than the steps my colleague had cited earlier. He repeated the question, this time asking about steps to be taken should a run-away trim be encountered. Next, the inspector asked, "What does the POH require, in proper sequence order, should the engine fail in flight? Again, give me precisely what the POH says to do from memory." Again, my friend stumbled. The inspector reminded my friend that the Cessna POH says that the pilot "should memorize" the emergency checklist items displayed in bold print. My friend had not done this. The oral portion of the "709 ride" ended prematurely with my friend being instructed to come back again in a week or two after becoming better prepared to continue the process. Okay, so what happened? What happened? Was my friend not adequately prepared or was the inspector expecting too much from my friend? Answer: In my opinion, the inspector was doing his job, fairly and appropriately. He was effective in driving home the point that "by the book" was the way we pilots should be functioning. Sure, there is room for interpretation, correlation, and application of knowledge but, in the end, doing it "by the book" is what we all should be doing to remain safe aloft. We in general aviation have been chugging along for the past decade or so with a "flat-lined" safety record. Contrary to what the GA flag waivers are boasting, we're suffering essentially the same deplorable fatal accident rate as we did 6 to 10 years ago. And this is happening despite tremendous gains in aircraft technology. "The times they are a-changin!" Finally . . . something is now being done about it. As my colleague's "709 Ride" revealed, the FAA is apparently hunkering down and rightly so on our level of pilot proficiency or lack thereof. They're telling us that if we want to fly TAA (technically advance aircraft) we darn well better be able to understand its technical systems. They're saying, "If the engine quits in flight, we ought to do something other than simply reaching up and pulling the ballistic recovery chute handle!" The times they are a-changing. The price of safety is ratcheting up. If we in general aviation want to achieve the commendable safety record of corporate and airline crews, we must become as proficient. Equally important, we must maintain this same high level of proficiency. In summary, my hat goes off to the FAA, particularly our local FSDO and this particular inspector, for helping to change the culture of us GA pilots and the flight training community that supports us. I caution however, that while a little bit of medicine is good, too much can kill. And so it goes with FAR interpretation and enforcement. Understanding of aircraft systems is good and memorizing emergency procedures saves lives. But requiring us pilots to become avionics technicians and memorizing major elements of the POH for every make/model airplane we fly exacts a price on whatever cognitive resources we have to fly the airplane . . . safely. For some, this is standard fare. For
others, it adds new meaning to the importance of recurrent
training. "The times they are a-changin . . . " Bob Miller, CFII, ATP
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I would like to thank the following technical assistance
contributors for their valuable help in producing OTA every
month: Cameron Dunlop, Corning, NY;
Dan Maloney, Clarence, NY; Barry McCollom, Kerrville, TX; Thom
Riddle, Buffalo, NY; and
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Want
proof? All we have to do is recall our first trip down
a playground slide. We climbed the ladder, sat
perilously on top, looked down, released our grip on the sides,
then slid down hoping to land on our feet or be caught by
Mom. It was one single all-or-nothing event.
Despite
the accumulating ice, our airplane is operating just fine.
Sure, there is considerably more drag, just as if we lowered
the flaps, but what's happening inside the cockpit now looks
like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie where Norman
Bates is standing on our wing hacking away at our cockpit with
an ice-covered, bloody knife.
We
departed the Buffalo-Lancaster Regional Airport (KBQR)
and climbed into a 400' overcast ceiling. We remained
in the clag for our two hour flight that would take us to
the Delancy VOR and into LaGuardia (KLGA) via the NOBBI-5
STAR (standard terminal arrival route).
were
cleared to JFK.
Virgin
Galactic - The next Frontier
Picture
this . . . a 20,000 hour pilot with nearly every pilot
rating in the book climbs into a Yak 52 with the apparent
intent to please the crowd. He invites a friend to
come along.
Imagine
the frustration felt by the folks at Cirrus Design when one
of their beautifully designed and crafted aircraft turns
into a lawn dart and people onboard die.
According
to the NTSB report, numerous witnesses on the ground
reported hearing and seeing the airplane prior to the
impact. One witness reported that she "heard the
plane's engine stop and start and stop again. Then an
explosion and it fell out of the sky with the parachute
falling behind but it did not deploy all the way. The
airplane fell nose first into the water." 
Many
I
recently sat in on the oral portion of a "709 ride"
between a local FAA inspector and a pilot colleague of mine.
A "709 ride" comes from
