Hangar 36

Enjoy a few photos I took at EAA AirVenture 2010 in Oshkosh, Wisconsin.

2010-08-04T21:07:00.000-07:00

http://picasaweb.google.com/yahyoubetcha.net/Oshkosh2010#

Learn to Fly Day

2010-05-15T19:45:00.000-07:00

Today was International Learn to Fly Day. One of the flight schools held an open house so there were a few more folks wandering around than normal. I was out working on our Mooney when I decided to take a little walk with a friend. We discovered a P-51 Mustang at the Pacific Coast Air Museum. This one is called Red Dog XII. It is regularly flown by Chuck Yeager and it's owned by a friend of his. I even found his signature on the tail of Red Dog. But the best part of the day was hearing what I thought was the voice of a friend of mine, Darren Hopkins, who was soloing a Cessna 172. After he landed I went around the hangar and caught him pulling into the flight school. I took his movie camera and filmed his instructor cutting the tail off his shirt. This is a tradition for pilots who solo. It goes back to the days when student pilots sat in front of their instructors. In order to signal the students in the noisy open-cockpit planes, the instructor would tug on the shirttail. After they soloed, the instructor cut off the shirttail as a sign they were good enough to not need those signals any more. For the next few weeks, the back of Darren's shirt will be on display at North Coast Aviation. Three other pilots near my hangar saw the back of Darren's shirt missing and knew what he had just accomplished and congratulated him. And he did it on Learn to Fly Day.

There's a reason they call it an Airbus...

2010-05-12T14:50:00.001-07:00

An Afternoon At KSTS, Santa Rosa

2010-05-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

I am always reminding myself to bring my nice camera pack to the airport every time I visit. I usually forget. So I end up with a lot of poor quality iPhone photos to “prove” what I saw. In our hangar we have a solar powered scanner set-up that lets us in on most everything that happens before it happens. I’ve been witness to three accidents, one dead-stick landing, several amazing military landings, a large number of war bird sightings and VIP arrivals. For such a small class D airport we seem to get plenty of action.

Our Mooney is undergoing an annual so we’re busy taking off panels and other things under the watchful eye of our mechanic. Friday afternoon was another of those days spent at the airport listening to the tower and working on the plane. And, of course, I forgot my camera at home.

The first event was two Apache attack gunships arriving from Camp Pendleton. They made a couple low passes and landed on the ramp. Two officers each readied their ships for an overnight stay and left the airport.

Over the scanner I hear Santa Rosa tower talking to a “Fortress.” A couple minutes later I hear the amazing unmistakable sound of four radial engines and then see a beautiful Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress low in the pattern slowly making its way to the ground. It did a couple of low passes and then made a series of touch-and-go landings. I called my daughter and begged her to bring me my camera.

After about four landing cycles I heard another familiar sound. It was a Rolls Royce attached to Lady Jo, a local P-51 Mustang that lives at our field along with a couple others. As she rolled out of the hanger I knew I was in for a rare treat. There are not many of either of these planes still flying.

The Fortress took off and headed toward the south. Following about 3 minutes behind was Lady Jo. A few minutes later they both flew back and the Fortress made a few landings with Lady Jo doing low fly-bys. I stood at the end of my row of hangars and enjoyed the show along with a few other hanger owners fortunate enough to have field access.

Unfortunately, by the time my daughter showed up with my camera, Lady Jo went back to her hangar. My iPhone photos were horrible so I never got a shot of them together. I did get a few shots with my good camera but the sun was setting so I was shooting into the light making photography rather difficult.

One of my favorite parts of the afternoon was listening to our tower speak to the Fortress and the Mustang together. Several of the landing pilots of a more common name brand (Cessna, Mooney, Piper) commented on what an amazing site it was to see those old birds in the pattern.

For those who knew what they’re looking at it was an amazing afternoon. And for the person who called the tower with a noise complaint, you should not have moved next to the airport if you didn’t want to hear noise. Santa Rosa’s airport was activated in 1942. Your housing development was built only 15 years ago. And those planes you heard overhead helped to win the greatest war this country has ever fought. It won’t be much longer and they will all be so old and tired that they will only be found in museums. And those of us who choose to live near the airport and love the sounds of history will remember the last time we heard one of those old birds overhead. We will struggle to describe it. But we will never forget it.

Mooney M20D Master

2010-03-01T20:28:00.000-08:00

We fly a fixed-gear Mooney which is quite the novelty. I thought I would post an advertisement of this plane for folks to look at. Ours is one of three left that are unconverted. It's a 2 MB file so give it a second to load after clicking on it.

Mid Air Collision

2010-01-30T16:26:00.000-08:00

During flight training you’re required to plan and fly a long cross-country adventure. You leave from your home airport and travel in a giant triangle stopping at two other airports at least 100 miles from each other. Back in the 80’s GPS did not exist so I used a combination of navigational aids called a VOR and good old-fashioned dead reckoning. Dead reckoning involves using a map to calculate your route and a slide rule to calculate variables such as time and wind speed. It’s not easy, but that’s the point.

This particular cross-country would be a solo flight. My first stop was uneventful and I even found someone with a stamp to sign my logbook proving I was there. The second leg of my adventure was also uneventful. In fact, it was kind of boring because a large easy-to-see freeway connected the two cities. Following the map and making corrections for the upper level winds were easier because of the freeway.

The last leg of the trip should have also been uneventful. My home airport was within site of two very large towers from a power plant. They could be seen for miles. Once at altitude I would have no problem getting them in my sites making my navigation as easy as following a freeway. But easy flying is also boring flying. Making matters worse is that flying in Southern Minnesota means miles upon miles of fields and small towns.

Back then we never had air traffic flight following. Today, depending on their workload, air traffic controllers will monitor your flight and inform you of traffic nearby. It comes in handy over the busy Northern California skies. But this day I was on my own. Rarely did I ever see any traffic. The skies were usually wide open, but not this day.

I was at 5,500 feet when suddenly a large plane appeared climbing up at me. The sun had reflected off his wings giving him away. I quickly turned to the right and immediately lost track of him. I had been making position reports at airports along the way but did not hear him. It was a very close call. I was a bit shaken but I quickly resumed my course. Just as I reached my previous course it happened again. Did we both make a giant circle only to get in each other’s way, again? Once again I quickly banked to the right. Was it another plane? I had no idea.

I regained my course and altitude when it happened a third time. This time I decided to stay at a higher altitude. I regained my course and in about 5 minutes I flew over a gigantic, very reflective tin-roofed turkey barn. It had been an optical illusion. The sun was at the right angle to send a long reflection straight at me on the horizon.

When I returned I told my instructor that I almost had three mid air collisions. “What kind of planes,” he asked. “Two were Butterballs and one was a Jennie-O,” was my reply. I told him about the turkey barns and I almost got laughed out of the FBO.

Bad Vibrations

2010-01-23T22:23:00.000-08:00

It was going to be a grand day flying. I had just earned my private pilot’s license and was now able to take passengers. My little brother, Joe, had never been flying so this was going to be a big deal. I rented the trusty Cessna 152 that I had taken most of my lessons in and briefed Joe on what was going to happen. We hopped in the plane and planned on flying over the family homestead and the little town of Buffalo. As I rolled out on the uncontrolled rural runway all was well. No traffic in site or reporting in on the radio. We would have the sky to ourselves.

I slowly increased the throttle and we rolled down the runway. We were soon airborne and Joe was amazed. He loved it. Joe was mesmerized by the earth sinking away and stared out the window at everything getting smaller. He was now experiencing a new dimension. Up.

No sooner had we reached 100 feet than a very loud banging and continuous vibration shook the plane. It seemed to be coming from Joe’s side of the plane. I had already experienced one mayday when an engine quite on me so I was having a hard time believing that it was happening again. Only this time something must have let loose and it was trying to free itself from the plane. Could it be the gear? Did I run into a wayward raccoon on the field? I had no idea.

The only thing I could do was to continue climbing until I could turn back to the runway. I still had engine power and all the control surfaces seemed to be working. A quick scan of my instruments and gauges told me the engine was fine but obviously something had gone seriously wrong. Vibration in the air is not a good thing. The plane was now almost humming. I asked my now terrified brother what he could see out his side of the plane.

He quickly discovered that he had closed his door on the end of the seatbelt. Now the seatbelt end was banging on the side of the plane. I felt a huge sense of relief that my wings weren’t falling off. I asked Joe to open the door and pull the belt back into the plane. He immediately started crying. He was so terrified that apparently it didn’t take much to send him over the edge. He refused to do it because, he told me, if he did, “we would both get sucked out of the plane.” This was the era when sequels to the original Airport were hitting the theaters.

I didn’t have time to explain to Joe that this was not a pressurized aircraft and I was afraid of the belt damaging the side of the plane. So I reached over and opened the door much to Joe’s horror. He gave me the most heartbreaking look, and seemed to be thinking, “Why would you want to kill me?” He instantly saw that he was o.k. and he grabbed the belt and I shut the door. The rest of the flight was uneventful and enjoyable.

I don’t think he ever flew with me again.

Displaced Threshold

2009-11-17T21:40:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I took a little trip from Santa Rosa (KSTS) to the Cameron Park (O61) airport with a full plane. We were well within weight limits and the tanks were not full so weight in the Mooney was not an issue. I took off toward the east and contacted Oakland Center on 127.80 after reaching my cruise altitude of 5,500 ft. and requested flight following. The controller at Oakland Center was pretty easy to understand and I got a squawk code right away. For those of you non-pilots a squawk code is a unique numeric four-digit code that lets the radar operators know who’s who and what your altitude is. I was handed off to a new controller a total of four times in the short 45 minute flight.

My friend in the right seat wrote down all the new radio frequencies as we made our way. The controller at Travis Approach was not as easy to hear and I had to strain a little for the instructions. The next two controllers from Nor Cal Approach, however, were a different story. Their radios had a whole different tone to them that was very hard to hear. At one point, while almost directly over Sacramento, he gave me a vector (change in direction to avoid traffic) that I could not understand. He became quite upset with me but I finally got him to slow down. He treated me like a child in a demeaning way because I could not understand his auctioneer speed voice. Private pilots are not always required to use Air Traffic Control but always encouraged. It adds another margin of safety. However, many other pilots like me often hesitate because of the impatience and rude attitudes some (certainly not all) controllers have when small planes fly into a certain area. I causes us to not call in at all because of the chance of getting a demeaning or frustrated controller on the radio. We all don’t have super expensive airliner radios or $2,000 headsets. We try to do our best and certainly appreciate the majority of controllers who are patient and understanding.

Cameron Park airport is hard to find and has a very steep approach due to the small valley it resides in. Runway 31 is the preferred runway. Take a careful look at the picture and you can see the numbers "31" about 1/3 of the way down the runway. Basically, final approach skims the side the mountain all the way down staying a few hundred feet above the numerous rooftops built on the hill. It has a displaced threshold that seems as long as the actual runway itself. More on that later.

Landing was a kick. When you make the turn from downwind to base you are directly over a mountain with a holding pond for a top. You're only 200 feet above it. I can't imagine what the winds would do you on a blustery day. Thankfully, yesterday the winds were dead calm. I had one of my best landings ever. I effortlessly floated over the threshold and landed right on the numbers. I nailed it. But I also noticed how short the runway was between the numbers. So I made a quick visual of what I thought the halfway point was for later reference.

There was a Cessna landing behind me so I went to the far end of the runway where there is a circle meant for waiting for just this purpose. Basically, I got out of his way. There’s no control tower In Cameron Park but the other pilot and I were in communication with each other the entire time making clear our intentions. After the Cessna rolled to a stop he turned around on the runway and back taxied. This means he used the runway as a taxiway since there is no taxiway on that end of the runway. It’s a perfectly safe thing to do so long as no one is landing.

As I started to back taxi I noticed a twin engine plane in a low right pattern (not usual) who did not announce himself on the radio at all. Both the Cessna and myself immediately recognized the danger. If he continued and turned to land we may get caught on the runway while he tried to land. We both sped up to get off the runway and tried calling him but there was no answer. Thankfully, the jerk kept flying right downwind and disappeared behind the mountain. I found a place to park and the four of us got out of the plane and off to a concert we went.

We got back to the airport well after dark. The wings were damp with dew and that concerned me a bit due to added drag. It would not be much but I made note of it. I did my usual pre-flight checks and all was well. I did everything without the engine run up as they are prohibited at Cameron Park.

I learned to fly in Minnesota. Never do I recall encountering something called a displaced threshold. My understanding of runway rules, as of yesterday, was no using the threshold for anything other than taxing. My understanding was, also, published runway length does not include the displaced threshold. Those of you who are pilots can already see where this is heading.

Landing on a displaced threshold is prohibited. However, take off is not. But for some unknown reason, I thought it was prohibited. Dumb. In fact, it’s there to actually extend the takeoff roll of an airplane. All airplanes need more runway to take off than to land. At Cameron Park the threshold is 1509 ft long which adds about a third more runway for taking off. My mistake was that upon taking my place at take off, I went to the runway numbers which made my takeoff run 2,349 ft instead of the end of the threshold.

Playing it safe, this would be considered a short field. The plane had 4 passengers but the tanks were not full. The plane was damp so there was more drag. The air was about 41 degrees cool and barometric pressure was 30.12 which was in my favor. Field elevation is 1286 ft. This gave me a density altitude of 248 which is close to sea level. This is because cold air is more dense than warm air. This gives you much better engine performance and more lift. Because the dew was covering the windscreen, I let the plane warm up for about 10 minutes and kicked on the defroster which cleared the windscreen.

Because of my misinformation I taxied out to the runway numbers leaving 1,509 feet of usable runway behind me and 2349 in front of me. But my brain is telling me the published length was 4,051 ft. I knew that could not be right. The other complication was that I was going uphill as the runway has a pretty good dip in the middle then curves up. I thought that maybe since it was night and since I was looking slightly uphill, it was an optical illusion. Thankfully, I opted to play it safe and use a special procedure for a short field take off.

When I hit the halfway point of the runway I was going 65 knots which is 80% of takeoff speed, so, I was on the numbers. I lifted off at 70 knots and stayed in ground effect which is a deceiving pillow of air created by low-wing aircraft. I hit 80 knots, the magic number, and began to gain altitude about 200 feet from the end of the runway. I quickly hit 93 knots (Vx for you pilots) and held her in a climb and then put the plane into a very slight bank to the left to avoid the mountain I knew was looming in the dark ahead. The night was pitch black with no moon and super clear skies. I had to really mind my instruments and know exactly what my plane was doing because, essentially, I was flying IFR (on instruments only) because I had no reference to a horizon. At slow speeds, if you have a full plane and you turn too sharply, you can get into big trouble really fast. So I had to be really careful about what I was doing and remain hyper-vigilant.

I assumed I was on a 4,000 ft runway but my eyes told me it was not. I trusted my eyes. Thankfully the Mooney did what she does best, climb. They’re a small but powerful plane. The entire takeoff roll and climb out took less than a minute. The entire time I’m taking in all my visual clues, monitoring the health of the engine, remembering my takeoff and climb out parameters and recalling my speeds. There’s a lot to do. So you do what you’re trained to do and fly the plane first.

With a moonless night I wanted as few distractions as possible. So I made my turn and headed toward Santa Rosa (KSTS) and kept climbing until I reached 6,500 before calling the air traffic controllers again. Once again the Nor Cal Approach controllers in Sacramento were jerks. They talked too fast, even thought the skies were not busy and their radios were hard to understand. The controller at Travis Approach, an Air Force Base, was a nice woman who was easy to understand but she was really busy with jumbo jets on the military runway. We didn’t talk much at all. The handoff back to Oakland Center was smooth and easy to hear. I could hear him clear as a bell and he was quite courteous while talking at a normal pace. I was now 15 miles away from Santa Rosa and was in visual site of the airport. I canceled radar coverage and tuned Santa Rosa into my radios.

I set my self up for a 5 mile final approach straight in. There was no one else in the air. On that 5 mile final we saw a large building fire off to our left that turned out to be a horse ranch on fire. A few seconds later we smelled smoke. Had I not seen that fire I would have thought my plane was now on fire for some reason.

I landed on runway 32 in Santa Rosa and we were home.

I have practiced several night short field takeoffs before at Napa. In fact, the weather was much warmer but I had one less passenger. We would land and come to a complete stop on the runway then take off using the other half of the runway. On one of those practice takeoffs my instructor cut the engine on me just 300 ft. above the ground just to see how I would react.

Executed properly, there’s nothing wrong with doing a short field takeoff. In fact, pilots practice them all the time. They are not hard to do, just a little different. In this case, everything went perfectly. But I wasn’t practicing short filed takeoffs. This was the real deal. My mistake was leaving a 1,500 ft. margin of error behind me. It’s said the two most useless things for a pilot are the air above you and the runway behind you. I won’t make that mistake again.

I think I picked up my misinformation about displaced thresholds from my early training. I seem to recall learning about it but I misinterpreted that displaced thresholds are only for taxiing. That information has been stuck in my brain for 25 years. I've never seen such a long displaced threshold than at the Cameron Park airport and certainly, up until yesterday, have never had to use one.

Lesson learned.

Night Landings

2009-11-09T20:53:00.000-08:00

Captain Kevin is one of those guys that is nicer than the Midwest. He has thousands of hours of flight time and he flies giant jets made by Boeing. But the minute he becomes your flight instructor he’s bent on assuring you know your stuff and that, in case of an emergency, you’ll land safely.

I’m currently on hour 7.7 of my private pilot recertification process with 2.3 hours left to go before I am, for the first time in 25 years, official. I was told when I reentered this process that it would be just like riding a bike. That could not be further from the truth. Let me explain why.

Captain Kevin lives about 20 miles away from my home airport. He graciously drives up to meet me for my lessons. Last night, my plane partner, Les, flew me down to meet Captain Kevin at his airport. That was at about 10:00 PM. In no time I was in the captain’s seat and up we went. Captain Kevin decided that flying to Napa, where the winds were much stronger, would be a great idea. I had never been to Napa’s airport and this was only my second time in the air at night. So, why not heap on the pressure, right?

My previous night flight was amazing. Five full-stop takeoff and landing cycles went by quickly and seeing the lights of the North Bay were mesmerizing. So I was a bit excited for this peaceful night flight. Captain Kevin had me right where he wanted me. Before getting to Napa He disoriented me a bit my having me track VOR radials. Basically, it’s navigating all over the place and trying to hold a straight line until he tells you to follow another line.

Landing #1
“Now, let’s land at Napa.” No big deal since I greased all my previous night landings. Again, I was putty in his hands. First landing I botched and bounced a bit too much. Crud. Full stop and then up into the flight pattern we go.

Landing #2
All goes well and this time I don’t bounce. Problem corrected. We come to a full stop. Then we take off again and start to get into the pattern. The Captain Kevin says that all the other planes in the pattern (2-3 of them) are all using the runway with a crosswind. “Let’s do that, too.” So now I’m doing a difficult crosswind landing at night at an unfamiliar airport in an airplane that does not want to come down. I drop the right wing down into the wind, left rudder to keep everything straight and touchdown. Full stop and then back into the air with three other student pilots behind me. The pressure continues to build. Les is in the back seat glad he’s not me. He occasionally gives me very reassuring pats on the back that I’m interpreting as “Please don’t kill us tonight” pats. Back into the pattern I go.

Landing #3
All is well until I turn onto final approach. Captain Kevin decides it’s a great time to kill the engine. He quickly quizzes me on what I should be doing if it’s a fire, catastrophic engine failure, UFO collision, electrical failure, out of Colombian coffee, etc. It’s important but remember the engine is out, it’s night and I need to get this plane on the ground. Did I mention it’s dark? I follow the procedures Captain Kevin has drilled into me and we land full stop. Then up we go again as the pressure builds. But this time Captain Kevin waits until I’m barely off the ground and he cuts the engine. There’s no way I have enough speed or altitude to make it back to the runway and he knows it. I push the nose over, do my checks and mentally brace for the worst. “You have to take what comes,” is what he says. “Fly it to the ground and take what comes.” Please, God, don’t ever let that be me. Les give me another pat.

I told my family and friends that if I die in a plane crash, don’t let anyone at my funeral say, “At least he died doing what he loved.” I don’t know of anyone who loves crashing into the ground at 200 mph. So don’t say it. These things are on my mind when Captain Kevin graciously gives me power back and up into the pattern we go. It’s still night and there’s still a crosswind and now I’m really uptight.

Landing #4
I’m only 2/3rds down my downwind leg and he cuts the power again. He asks, “Now what are you going to do?” Well, I’m pointed in the opposite direction but I’m still landing on that runway (in a crosswind going the wrong way in a really fast plane at night). I do my checks and ready the plane for landing. I turn hard right making sure I don't stall a wing, putting the plane into a spin, and roll out on the end a little high (which is way better than too low). I do a side-slip and bleed off the altitude but this is a mile-long runway so no worries, right? I make the landing and come to a full stop. Up in the pattern we go. “Let’s go back home,” he says. I know this is some sort of a trick. I know he wants to break me.

But we couldn’t go straight back. Oh, no! We had to do more VOR navigation work on the way. And why don't we listen to an AM radio station while we're at it and discuss politics. He's overloading me with distractions. I was finally saved by the fog that was now visibly drifting in from the ocean. So, we head back to Petaluma.

Landing #4.5
I was about 3 miles out from Captain Kevin’s home airport and really high when he cut the power again. If you’re keeping score that’s four engine failures in one night and in less than an hour and a half. I ask myself, “Why couldn’t this be a nice end to the evening?” Captain Kevin wants me to sweat even more. I do my checks and get my glide right. At least the wind is coming straight down the runway but I completely expect he has a way to change that, too. I start to believe this man can bend space and time.

I’m about ten feet off the ground about to touch down safe and sound when he announces, “Emergency abort!” I’m hoping it’s not real and I didn’t miss seeing a deer or a hobo wandering on the runway. It doesn’t matter because Captain Kevin says we’re not landing. Up we go. In the pattern we discover the fog is getting closer. And we still need to drop off the Captain and get back to our airport.

Landing #5
This time he’s nice to me and lets me land without incident. We drop him off, Les moves up front and flies the Mooney home. We land at Santa Rosa without any fog and I’ve lost 2 gallons of sweat and much of my faculties.

I’m now safe at home and Captain Kevin has given me a new assignment for those remaining 2.3 hours. Fly around San Francisco, avoiding all it’s dangers, deal with air traffic control, and suffer more engine failures. And, just as a heads up, all the planning I’m expected to do will go right out the window when he calls a “divert.” That means bringing out the map and re-plotting a new course of his choosing while flying the airplane.

Flying a Mooney at night in a crosswind with multiple engine failures is not like riding a bike.

This Is Your Captain Speaking

2009-11-02T18:49:00.000-08:00

It was the early 80’s and I was taking my first long cross country. It was near Christmas and there wasn’t a lot of air traffic. My instructor and I would be flying from Maple Lake to Rochester, MN, home of the Mayo Clinic. We took off in the clear and cold Minnesota air. The Cessna 152 loved the freezing temps. Air is more dense the colder it is and engines and wings love the dense air. We made it to our destination without any problems and landed without incident.

Rochester had commercial airline service. Northwest Orient Airlines had a 727 at the gate and it looked like it was getting ready to leave. After I topped off our fuel tanks we, too, were underway. The big jet and I were both headed toward the same runway. I was a little ahead of the jet and was going to make it to the taxiway first.

Just then we heard over the radio, “Cessna 150, this is the first officer of the Northwest 727. We’d like to get ahead of you and take off first.” My instructor turned to me and said, “Don’t let him do it. If he goes first you’ll have to wait for his wake turbulence to clear before you take off.” I wasn’t sure what to say as I’d never talked to an airliner before. So I replied, “This is the captain of the Cessna 152 and we will be departing before you.” I revved my engine and took my place ahead of the big jet. My instructor got a big laugh out of it. I felt like a captain that day.

Mayday

2009-10-23T22:37:00.000-07:00

I was 19 and I was working on my private pilot's license. I only had about 30 hours of flight time. I was flying solo and doing some touch-and-go landings at Maple Lake, MN (KMGG). I was using runway 10, which has a lake at the end of it. Take off was normal and I was climbing to pattern altitude and was just about to make my turn to crosswind when the engine on my Piper Tomahawk stopped. A million things go through your mind at this point. But you're trained to fly the plane. Panic comes later, hopefully. I quickly pushed the nose over as I was trained and got the plane into a gliding attitude. I was only 300 feet above the ground, which did not give me enough altitude to turn around and land on the runway. I quickly assessed my situation and realized that I was going to have to ditch the plane in the lake. I would not be able to make it to land. At the far side of the lake I saw some kids playing on a floating raft. I thought if I landed near them they would certainly see me and hopefully be able to call for help or at least find my body. This all happened within seconds. Aviate, navigate, communicate. Every good instructor drills that into you and makes you practice by flying along and cutting the engine on you, forcing you to constantly think about where you would land in an emergency. Aviate, done. Navigate, done. Communicate? I got on the radio and called in a "mayday" knowing that I was on a rural unicom frequency and probably would not be heard. But I did it anyway and I'm glad I did. A few moments before, my instructor happened to walk into the FBO and heard my call on the radio. Thankfully, he knew I wasn't kidding. I'll never forget his first words, "Scott, do your check." Somehow he knew I would probably be freaking out and not have the sense to do my emergency check of the systems. Almost immediately I noticed that I had forgotten to turn on my backup electrical fuel pump. This is a redundant pump meant just for emergencies like this. It's incredibly rare that the engine's mechanical pump would fail. But fuel is important so that's why they make a backup and that's why the checklist says to turn it on when taking off and when landing. A few seconds after I turned the fuel pump on the engine came back to life. With the prop spinning in the wind, it was like popping a clutch on a car. I was only about 100 feet above the lake and the kids on that raft I was aiming for looked more panicked than me. They started watching me right after my engine went silent. I wasn't more than a couple hundred yards away from them when the engine came back to life with a roar. Immediately I stopped my glide, gained some speed and slowly turned toward the airport. I made the beginners mistake of getting back into the pattern. I should have slowly made my turn and landed on the opposite runway. But I was fortunate. I landed, taxied back to the FBO where I was met by my instructor. I got out of the plane and tried to keep standing on my severely weakened knees. "You know, it's rare a mechanical pump fails?" he said. "Oh really?" I replied. I left and stayed away for about two weeks replaying the scenario over and over. Then Jim called me and said, "It's time to get back on the horse." I never forgot to turn on the backup fuel pump again.

Fixed Gear Mooney

2009-10-23T22:28:00.000-07:00

In 1963 Mooney introduced the M20D Master. The 20D is basically an M20C with fixed gear. The M20D was type certified on 15 October 1962. This airplane left the factory on January 31, 1963. Mooney is known for it’s retractable-gear aircraft so the idea that Mooney manufactured fixed-gear aircraft is new to most aviation buffs. The aircraft was intended primarily for flight training and for owners seeking lower insurance rates. The last M20D Master was produced in 1965. All but two have either been converted to retractable-gear M20Cs for increased cruise speed and climb performance, or they are no longer in existence. The other fixed-gear Mooneys still around are N1916Y located in Princeton, New Jersey and N6651U in Baltimore, MD.

Mooney build 100 M20D models in 1962 (serial numbers 101-200). The factory price was $13,995. In 1964, they built 51 more (serial numbers 201-251). The last fixed-gear Mooney aircraft were produced in 1965. It was a very limited run of only 8 aircraft (serial numbers 252-259). This makes N6630U a very rare bird. In fact, there are more WWII P51 Mustangs flying then there are fixed-gear Mooneys. Although she doesn’t compare to a P51, she does represent a very rare breed of general aviation aircraft.

She spent 15 years outdoors in the elements and was grounded due to corrosion issues. She’s been brought back to life by Cris and Les and flies regularly with her three partner-pilots.

A Love Story

2009-10-23T10:34:00.000-07:00

I have a box filled with goodies from when I was in kindergarten. The paper has the smell of “antique” which is somewhat disconcerting. To think that anything I created smells antique makes me realize just how far away I am from my earliest memories. One stack of papers has paintings I made of airplanes. It reminds me that my earliest goal was to someday be a pilot.

When I was 19, that dream came true. I worked hard for a year, spent my paycheck on flying lessons and ground school, and could not believe it when my instructor got out of the airplane and trusted me to fly the airplane myself. Later on, when I met all the FAA requirements, someone trusted me enough to award me my license, allowing me to take passengers.

Then life happened. I flew a couple more years. The cost and commitment was too much for me to maintain. I was in college and had no money. Soon, my license expired. But I always wondered if I would ever be able to get back into the air someday and renew my license.

I’m in my mid forties and my planned midlife crisis is hitting me hard. Couple that with having a very difficult year at work and I was going home each evening absolutely spent. I busied myself doing things for others but never really did anything for myself. Then, the opportunity to fly again presented itself so I jumped at it.

On Friday, July 30 at 7:00 PM, Captain Kevin, my extraordinary flight instructor, signed me off again as a private pilot. It’s been 25 years since I last took to the air. Captain Kevin got me back up to speed in just 10 hours. I kept hearing that it would all quickly come back. But I can’t remember my wife’s cell phone number, let alone a skill I haven’t used in 25 years. How was I going to do that?

It was long, tough, nerve-wracking and exhausting but on Friday night, Captain Kevin took me up into the pattern and we shot 5 more touch and go landings. He even gave me an engine failure on one of them. Then, he said it was time. I could feel myself getting choked-up (another sign of my age). I didn’t want to go by myself so I took my friend, Les, the man who got me back into the air, and up we went. I was now the PIC (Pilot In Command).

After a quick run around the pattern, I landed and taxied back to the hanger where Captain Kevin pinned me with Mickey Mouse wings. I cannot tell you how elated I was to have re-accomplished this achievement. Surrounded by my flying buddies, we went from the hanger to Third Street Aleworks to celebrate. We told flying stories and did a lot of smiling.

Thanks to Captain Kevin for the most difficult but excellent flight training anyone could have. He used to train the pilots for Japan Airlines so he really knows his stuff. Thanks to Captain Erik in Forest Lake, Minnesota. He let me fly his Cessna 150, the plane I first trained in. Those simple flights renewed my confidence at a time in my training when I really needed it. It reminded me of when I was 18, first taking to the skies. It helped to bring back something I feared I had lost. Captain Erik has no idea how much those flights meant to me, especially landing in that wicked crosswind in Duluth on the shore of Lake Superior.

Thanks to Les, the guy who said, “I want you to be my partner in this airplane I bought.” Even though I faced some challenges due to past medical issues, he kept pushing me to investigate and do what needed to be done. He was a bulldog and would not let up. And, thanks to my wife. She’s put up with my little dream for a very long time. She’s scared to death of little planes and is building up the courage to actually fly with me again. But without her encouragement, Friday night would not have happened.

I look forward to going on flying dates with my bride of 24 years. The ability to fly over the California mountains in one quarter of the driving time puts us in easy range of Lake Tahoe, Mount Shasta, Monterey Bay, etc. In just a couple of hours we can be someplace amazing without dealing with the insane traffic. And now that we’re empty nesters, getting to date my wife again is something I’m really looking forward to. I know how blessed I am to be able to do this.

When you look at that plane in the sky and the engine stops, understand that it’s probably Captain Kevin with another frightened student. About 500 feet above the ground the plane will restart and they will fly off. And inside, a confident Captain Kevin will know he’s doing what’s best for his student. And that student will, in turn, be getting an incredible gift.