In my last post, I had accumulated 9.3 hours — I’m only up to 12.2 hours right now, thanks to some ugly weather, plane maintenance and my CFI’s sinus infection. Today I’ll cover the planes I’m flying, my first away-from-home trip and a lesson with a fill-in instructor.

The Planes

My flight club owns four single-engine Cessnas: two 152s (circa mid-80s) and two 172s, both only a few years old. I chose to train in the 152s, N222UM and N333UM, primarily because they’re 30% cheaper per hour. They only have two seats, no GPS, and pretty wimpy engines. In my introductory post, I mentioned how it’s almost comical at times: the plane is less than half the weight and horsepower of my car, but give it a few minutes and it’s a thousand feet off of the ground. I took one of the 172s up for a lesson on a particularly windy day and was surprised at the difference. I felt like the plane was constantly getting ahead of me.

I’m loving the 152 and even if cost weren’t an issue, I’d continue to train in it. It’s designed as a stable training airplane — the most popular trainer by some accounts. It’s difficult to stall (and easy to recognize an impending stall), easy to control, efficient on fuel, etc. Still, I’m flying in a plane that’s older than I am, and with technology much older than that. The engine is carbureted, requires manual fuel-air mixture adjustment, and the fuel is gravity-fed. The only devices on the plane that use electricity are the starter, lights, radio and the motors that extend the flaps.

All of this makes the learning and flying process more tactile and (to me) enjoyable. Like a driver who prefers a manual transmission, there’s a gritty feeling to manually leaning the mixture by listening for the engine to cough, or hand-tuning the analog dial on the radio.

Of course, if I were to use a plane for more utilitarian purposes — say, going somewhere — I could appreciate the bells and whistles on the club’s nicer planes (which by many standards are still pared-down trainers). In my single flight in the 172, I immediately felt how an autopilot can make things significantly less stressful, even when it’s just holding an altitude and heading. The GPS map, additional radios, and electric trim selectors all make a pretty big difference in the amount of time spent on housekeeping. Eventually I’ll fly in N1377S, the club’s G1000-equipped Cessna 172. This plane has a glass cockpit, which means that all of the analog gauges are replaced with large LCD panels, displaying information in a markedly different format. Sounds like a huge help on long cross-country flights, but for now, I’m loving the simplicity of the little 152s.

First Trip

Last week, Will and I took our first trip in which we landed at an airport other than Ann Arbor (KARB), and it was a blast. We flew 30 miles north to Livingston County airport (KOZW), then 5 miles east to Brighton airport (K45G). The biggest learning experience was the navigation component. For this flight, we were using “pilotage” — which means we just look outside for landmarks and compare them to the chart. Because I’m new to the area, and rarely leave downtown, I was as dependent on the chart as I would be over a foreign state.

The navigation part was really exciting, because it gave me one more good reason to keep my eyes out of the cockpit. We spent a half hour reviewing the charts for the trip, as well as those specifically for the KOZW airfield. I memorized a few landmarks to watch for along the way, but most of the navigation would require watching the chart along the way. As we left town, I saw the mountain bike trails I ride, the Huron River and its notable dams, and the surprisingly large amount of lakes in the area. Just as we were leaving the KARB airspace, the 5000-foot broken layer of clouds burned away and gave us a brilliantly sunny trip. Of course, the warming weather also began to add some light turbulence, which I hadn’t experienced as often on cold practice days.

During the quick 10 minute trip, we also reviewed the procedures for landing at an uncontrolled (non-towered) airport. It requires more acute observation for other planes, modified radio calls and a lot of radio announcements while circling the field. Once we arrived, we entered the pattern and practiced six landings. This runway is wider than KARB, which adds an optical illusion of feeling lower than you actually are. The wind was continuing to pick up and blow through some trees just off the runway, which required corrections during the trickiest part of the landing. I was glad to practice somewhere new under more difficult situations.

Which brings me to one of the big-picture ideas I’ve noticed in my training: any time I’ve had a chance to practice something more difficult, is has greatly improved my execution of the simpler maneuvers. I guess this is pretty obvious, but it has been a relief when I worry about being able to accomplish simple tasks. As an example, after I began to practice steep turns (performed at a 45º bank angle, compare to the typical 15-30º), standard turns suddenly began to feel effortless. I hope that landings will continue to work this way, as I practice on windier days, and especially when I begin to practice simulated short field and grass field landings. In the next few weeks, KARB’s actual grass field will be reopening, and eventually I’ll have the opportunity to practice there.

Back to the trip. We left KOZW for the short trek to Brighton. As we approached, I realized that Brighton was a town I had recently visited for some skiing (like I said, I’m still learning Michigan geography). It suddenly sunk in that even though the plane is relatively slow (to most others in the sky), we still cruise over 120 MPH, making quick work of what was a 30-minute drive. Someday that’ll come in handy.

The Brighton leg was a blast — the wind had continued to pick up, and with good judgement, Will decided that I shouldn’t attempt any landings there. Not that I was even considering it: the runway wasn’t visible until we were right on top of it. It’s 25 feet wide, compared to the 100 feet we had just used at KOZW, the 75 feet at KARB, and the wingspan of the plane at 33 feet (the wings hang over the side of the runway). The strip is really just a neighborhood runway for nearby houses. I could tell that Will was both itching to try it and worried that I’d be nervous over the approach. I had a grin on my face the whole time. It was actually quite educational to watch Will fly the plane in for a perfect landing, despite the conditions. It had been a few lessons since I sat through a completely hands-off landing, and it was a good reminder of how smooth and controlled a practiced landing can be. Next time we fly up there, I’ll be sure to take a video. A calm flight home ended a great first trip.

Substitute Teacher

As I mentioned, a series of delays had given me a period of 14 days without a flight. By the time I flew again, I could tell that I had gotten a bit rusty — not only actual skills, but I was slipping on some of the rote procedures and memory items. At this stage, I feel like many of those things are pretty fragile, so I’m determined not to fall out of practice. Since Will was out of town for a week, I scheduled a lesson with another instructor at the club, Jayne, and I’m really glad that I did. I really like Will’s training style and personality, but it was great to have a fresh set of eyes for a number of reasons.

First, I was trying to make a good impression — both of myself and of Will as an instructor. This made me extra vigilant with the basics, like radio calls, checklists, etc. It also meant that I couldn’t depend on the little things that Will often helps with, like positioning the plane during the pre-takeoff run-up. I think I’ll try to have a fill-in every 9-10 lessons, just for the different perspective: both mine and the instructor’s.

We also practiced a procedure that Will hadn’t gotten to yet: simulated emergency landings. While I had covered them in my book work, it was a different beast once I was in the plane. The maneuver starts when the instructor (usually unexpectedly) pulls the throttle to idle, and tells me that the engine has died. I then have to keep the plane at its best glide speed (where it experiences the least drag, and will stay airborne as long as possible), begin turning in circles, look for potential landing sites (factoring in the wind), attempt to troubleshoot the engine, then approach the site, and land. When we’re about 700 feet from the ground, and lined up on final approach for the emergency landing, we re-apply power and end the procedure.

During my first attempt, I was discombobulated from at almost every step. First, I was extremely nervous over the airspeed. In this plane, the best glide speed is 60 knots, which feels rather slow, and feels even slower because the engine is quiet. Stall speed is 40 knots, but it feels a lot closer than that. After I had trimmed the plane to hold that speed, I had some indecision over choosing a field, and during the final part of the maneuver I spotted power lines, which made me change my mind once more.

We ended the maneuver, climbed back up, and tried again later in the lesson. This time I felt a lot more comfortable, chose a field and stuck to it. I was only surprised by how long I had to fly in circles above it before I was low enough to attempt to “land.” I was feeling a bit worried that I was too high to land, but too low to turn one more circle. Jayne encouraged me to circle once more, and I was surprised to find that I still had plenty of altitude, even after the turn was completed.

The most enlightening part of the emergency landings was when I came home and reopened the chapter on emergency landings. It mentioned that “the student” will experience everything I experienced: hesitation over airspeed, attempting to change landing sites at the last minute, and an eagerness to land sooner than necessary.

To end the lesson, we practiced three landings, and I was eager yet nervous to practice these with a new instructor. On that day, the wind wasn’t as strong as it was variable: it changed 40 degrees between two landings (the tower helped me out by announcing the change during the approach — I’m not so great at watching the windsock yet). My larger mistake (that I didn’t catch until I was driving home) was flying in the pattern 200 feet higher than normal. This was because I had just flown at KOZW last time, where the pattern is different. So all three of my landings began high, which was compounded by the fact that I was flying a tighter pattern (trying to look good for the instructor).

On the third approach, we were high enough that Jayne recommended I add a final notch of flaps, which I hadn’t done on any landing yet. In the final stage of landing, this essentially allows you a steeper angle of descent. Which from my perspective felt like we were dive-bombing the runway. It also means that the roundout and flare need to happen faster, to pull out of the steeper descent. I think that this actually helped in my case, because the roundout and flare have been the trickiest part for me: pulling up too early and floating down the runway before landing, or not pulling up fast enough, for a harder landing. In this case, I knew that the roundout needed to be right, so I had less time to overthink it.

From Here

Thanks to improving weather, I should have fewer missed lessons, and my next big milestone is my first solo. I won’t sound even remotely professional if I start to gush over how excited I am for that day, so I’ll just leave it there. Stay tuned for more updates, and feel free to ask me to focus on any particulars that I’ve missed. Thanks for reading!