As a follow-up to my last post, I though that you might enjoy seeing the video that covers Deadly's first flight.  Click on the image above and enjoy!

There’s no shortage of reasons to learn to fly.  One of the best is sharing flight with others.

I’ve taken each of my kids to the airport since before they could walk.  My son, Nicholas (callsign: “FOD”), has known how to operate a flap lever in a Cessna 172 since he was three.  My daughter, Ella (callsign: “Deadly”) reached for the throttle with her right hand the first time I loaded her into the left seat of a C-172.

I took FOD up in a Cessna Citation Mustang (a light business jet that seats six) on a demo flight at AirVenture Oshkosh three years ago when he was seven.  And I took him up again in a TG-7A motorglider with my airshow team in August for some formation practice.  But, up until now, I’ve never taken up Deadly, who's seven now.  So I set out to do something about that.

Last Saturday, we got up hurt-early and drove down to Detroit City Airport (KDET), where the Tuskegee Airmen National Historical Museum keeps the TG-7A motorgliders that we fly for Young Eagles rides and in airshows to raise awareness of the museum’s educational missions.

I walked around the aircraft with Deadly in tow, showing her how to check the oil, sample the fuel, check the hinges and push rods, and check the dozens of other items on the preflight checklist.  I once had a USAF lieutenant colonel tell me that I looked like I was conducting a pre-buy inspection of my aircraft instead of a preflight inspection.  I took that as a compliment.  In a way, I am buying the aircraft every time I take it up.  If there’s anything wrong, I sure don’t want to find out about it when I’m up in the air, especially over the unlandable terrain of downtown Detroit.  Bad PR for the museum.

Preflight complete, Tuskegee flight lead Mark Grant helped me to pull the aircraft out.  I strapped Deadly into the left seat and explained how to operate the intertial lock lever and how to open the canopy and egress from the aircraft in case that became becessary.  Deadly needs a couple of pillows to be able to see well enough and her feet can’t get to the rudder pedals.  But she can reach all of the controls that matter.

I explained to Deadly everything that would happen on the flight.  Who we’d talk to, why I did what I did, what the sensations would be, and what she’d see.

I slid in, strapped myself in, started up, and taxied out to the runup area.  A runup and brief conversations with ground and tower later, and we were on the displaced threshold of Runway 33.

“You ready to fly?” I asked?

“You bet!” she said.

I fed in the throttle and kept the stick in my gut.  A few seconds later, I let off the stick and the tail came up.  And then we rose from the runway.

The plan was a short flight out to the Detroit River about four miles from the airport with a couple of circles around Belle Isle before coming back.  First flights are best if they’re kept short and don’t involve anything surprising or what some pilots call “sporty.”  That was the primary reason for turning the prop at sunrise, before the wind had a chance to come up and before thermal heating could make it bumpy at the lower altitudes at which we’d be flying.

The air was as smooth as glass.  I gave Deadly the stick and coached her through straight-and-level flight and a couple of turns.  Out over Belle Isle, we flew long, stately racetrack patterns up and down the length of the island.

The tower called to say that a Cessna bizjet would be between out location and the airport on a left base for the runway and asked if we might stay there over Belle Isle for a couple of turns to give the jet time to maneuver.  No problem.  And it gave me a chance to spot the jet and point it out to Deadly.

Just before we were ready to head back in, I asked Deadly if she might like to feel what it’s like to go a little light in her seat.  I got an enthusiastic “yes,” so I entered into a descent to build kinetic energy, pulled up, and pushed over the top to about +0.5G.  Just enough to watch her hair start to rise a little and get her light in her seat.  Perfectly safe and reasonable maneuver with less than 50 feet of altitude excursion.  BIG reaction!  (The good kind.)  One more of those (light parabolas are fun the first couple of time, but don't press your luck with a new passenger) and we turned back to the airport.

I called up the tower, got cleared in, and I pulled off a pretty good landing. Deadly stayed on the controls with me the whole time.

Of course, I needed to explain to Deadly the quality of the landing.  I could have scraped a wingtip, ground-looped the aircraft, and come sliding in sideways in a hail of asphalt dust and she wouldn’t have been the wiser.  But a good landing and an explanation of the procedure are always great conclusions to a first flight.

We taxied in and put the aircraft away, then headed for home.  From the back seat, after a few minutes of silence, Deadly looked up from her book.

“Dad, can we do this every Saturday morning?”

Yeah.  Mission accomplished!

I fly for many  reasons.  This flight was one of them.  It illustrates a few things that are important to you as a student pilot or as a person who’s interested in learning to fly.

If you decide to go up in a general aviation aircraft with someone to see what it’s all about, make sure you talk to your pilot.  Even if the pilot is your instructor on your discovery flight.  A good pilot will explain everything that he or she expects to happen on the flight.  When to talk and when to shut up.  What to look for (here especially meaning other traffic).  How to operate the restraints and the door(s) or canopy(ies).  And come to an understanding about what maneuvers are okay and what maneuvers aren’t.  I floated Deadly a couple of times because we talked about it and she said that it’d be okay.  If that’s not okay with you, don’t be afraid to say so.  Your first flight should be short and fun and make you want to fly again soon.

If you’re looking for a reason to learn (or keep learning) to fly, the prospect of taking passengers on their first flights is a spectacular reason.  I fly EAA Young Eagles and others whenever I get an opportunity.  If you do it right, you’ll get others interested in aviation and get them on the road to becoming pilots.  Or, if nothing else, you'll help to make them informed citizens and voters who understand the value of GA.

I really, really enjoyed the flight with Deadly.  Along with my flights with FOD, this one was one of my favorite flights ever.

Deadly’s full name is Eleanor Ann Arroway Tupper.  She’s named for the protagonist in Carl Sagan’s novel, Contact.  So you can imagine the kinds of hopes and dreams I have for her.  Making lazy circles around Belle Isle in a TG-7A is just one in a long series of experiences that I plan to give to her.  And I can do things like this because I’m a pilot.

Soon, you’ll be able to do the same.  And how amazing will that be?

Who are you going to take up as your first passenger?  And how will you make it a safe and fun flight that passes on the love of aviation and makes new pilots?  The answers are in your flight training and in the motor skills and judgment that you’ll develop in your flight training.  I’m really excited for you because, if you stick with it, you’ll have opportunities like I had last Saturday.

I’ll never forget this flight.  And neither will Deadly.

A pilot certificate is just a license to learn.

When you’re doing your initial training, that must seem like a foreign concept.  Those guys and gals who have completed initial training and have certificates must know something, right?  Well, of course they do.  But you’ll be surprised at how much each additional rating shows you what you don’t know about flying.  And how much you’ll want to go learn that stuff!

I try to practice what I preach.  After the instrument rating, I began a quest to visit as many corners of the aviation envelope as I could find.  And there are plenty!  Multi-engine aircraft.  Seaplanes.  Flying upside down. For several years, I didn’t need to get a flight review because a new certificate or rating resets the clock on flight reviews.  In fact, I went months at a time carrying a paper temporary certificate for this or that because the plastic certificates couldn’t keep up.

It’s not that I gave that up.  I shot a movie about aerobatics, got more involved in CAP, and flew competition aerobatics myself.  But I hadn’t gotten a new rating in some time.

If you’d asked me in March if I thought that I’d be a commercial pilot now (and in gliders no less), I’d have chuckled at you.  But here I am, one of the nation’s newest commercial pilots. I went in for the checkride on June 26 at Livingston County Airport (KOZW) near Howell, Michigan.  I felt ready.  I got through the three-hour oral with the authority of a Navy Chief.  I flew the first 90% of the practical test like a champ, including shutting down the engine in flight (required for the ride when you’re doing your ride in a motorglider – don’t try this with your average single-engine airplane) and getting a restart.  Then we came back in to the airport for the landings.  I needed to do a no-spoiler landing, a precision landing, and an emergency abort.

Long story short, I failed the no-spoiler landing by coming in way too high and way too fast and I blew by the imaginary fence at the second turnoff.  End of checkride.  My first time ever hooking any checkride unless you count that instrument stage check way back in 2005 or so.

Kerry Brown was the FAA designated examiner.  He gave a really fair ride and seemed more disappointed than I was that I hooked it.  But he invited me to get a little remedial instruction and come back to polish off the ride.

I’ve long said that there’s no shame in hooking a ride.  The penalty is that you have to go out and fly more.  Oh, no!  Please don’t throw me in that briar patch!  But now I had the opportunity to actually see how well I’d live by those words.

My trusty instructor, John Harte, and I banged out five landings on the trip home.  I then did a fair amount of flying, some of it in formation on the way to the Battle Creek airshow and around the field when the box was closed.  (The formation stuff is worth an entirely separate post.  It’s amazing.  It turns out that I can do it reasonably well.  And, if you’ve never arrived at your favorite airshow in a three-ship formation and done an overhead break to land in front of a crowd line that you used to occupy as a spectator, it’ll peel the top right off your head with pride.)

On July 12, flew back to KOZW to meet again with the designated examiner, Kerry Brown.  I banged out eight landings before rolling to the ramp, gassing up, and loading in Kerry.

The additional training helped a great deal.  I was a lot more graceful and steady on the slip in to the no-spoiler landing.  I nailed the emergency abort, even though it took a couple of S-turns to be sure of landing with enough room to roll out comfortably.  I shut the engine down downwind abeam (again: don’t try this at home other than in a motorglider) slipped a little on base and final, touched down, put the speed brakes away, brought the tail back up, and coasted into the 100-foot zone with Kerry’s voice in my ears congratulating me on my new commercial pilot certificate.

Flying continues to have the ability to baffle, surprise, challenge, and inspire any human.  I can say that after 370 or so hours and a more varied logbook than most pilots have after more than 1,000 hours.  Even airline drivers with 10,000+ hours will tell you exactly the same thing.  Heck, I’m pretty sure that astronauts will say the same.

If you’re a primary student (and, if you’re reading this blog, it’s likely that you are), the things that you’re working on might be different from what I’m working on.  But we’re both working just as hard.  My stuff is just as new to me as your stuff is to you.  And that’s the way it should always be.

Been slogging into the parking lot lately after training sessions wondering if you’ll ever figure out when to flare?  I hear you.  You should have been there with me in the TG-7A a quarter mile out and 800 feet up wondering how I was going to get the aircraft down and stopped before that second turnoff.  I was at least as confounded as you.

But I have a new commercial pilot certificate in my pocket right now.  And you’ll soon have a private or sport pilot certificate in yours.  Days like the one on which I had my first phase of the commercial ride are inevitable.  They happen.  It’s what you do with a setback like that when it confronts you.

A pilot certificate is just a license to learn.  A rough patch on your path is par for the course.  If you don’t have rough patches, you’re not trying hard enough or getting the most important stuff out of this experience.  And rough patches make days like July 12 all the more worthwhile.

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can."  - Herman Melville; Moby Dick

I'm not especially "grim about the mouth" (although I love that expression).  And I'm not yet to the point of knocking off people's hats.  But any time I begin to figure that I know a lot about aviation, I account it high time to get into a strange and different aircraft as soon as I can.  So what started as an evil plot by glider instructor John Harte to lure me into training for a new rating has turned into a regular source of joy in my life.

Many of us are familiar with gliders and think of them as aircraft that don't have engines.  You either get towed aloft by a motorized aircraft or you're flung into the air by one of a number of ground-launch contraptions.  Both of those are, in fact, available endorsements for a glider rating (student or actual) and you need at least one if you're going to get up in the air.  But there's a third.

"Self-launch" gliders (or "motorgliders") have engines and propellers (or, sometimes, little jet engines) and they take off and climb just like powered aircraft.  You can then pull the power back to idle (or even shut down the motor altogether) and soar just like your un-engined comrades in the glider community.  I have several ratings on my certificate and they cover airplanes with one engine, more than one engine, airplanes that operate on water, and others.  But, as much as the average motorglider looks, acts, walks, and quacks like a single-engine airplane, it's in the glider category and I can't legally fly it as PIC unless and until I get at least a solo endorsement (and, ultimately, a glider category rating).

That said, the path for me ought to be fairly quick.  Very few people get their initial glider ratings in self-launched gliders.  There aren't many motorgliders around, for one thing.  For another, if gliders will be your introduction to aviation and your first rated category, it's a lot easier to go get your certificate in engine-less gliders.  I was right when I said that a motorglider is a lot like a single-engine airplane.  If you were coming to the glider rating without prior experience, you'd need to learn about 80% of what an airplane pilot needs to know, as well as your glider stuff.  But a motorglider is exactly the transitional platform that would appeal so someone who already has a fair amount of experience in powered aircraft.

I don't have the regs in front of me, but the training for glider add-on for a pilot who already has a private pilot certificate is pretty abbreviated.  10 solo flights, at least three hours of dual preparing for the checkride, and off you go to see the examiner.   Probably a little more than that, but not much.  And the nice thing is that you can knock out all of your solo flights in an hour.  Every trip around the pattern is a "flight."  I've amassed something like 35 flights over the last couple of months or so.  It's not that I'm avoiding the social element of glider flying that involved tow pilots, wing runners, and other stuff, but the idea that I can get the solo flights done fairly quickly is appealing.

Gliders are at once very similar to powered aircraft and very different.  I haven't done much actual soaring (it's pretty darned cold here in Michigan still and there's not a lot of convection), but I've been learning a lot about the unique elements of glider flight.  Coasting along with the prop stopped above the City of Detroit and getting a feel for the different airspeeds and the sink rates that they yield.  Using speed brakes instead of a throttle to adjust glide path on final.

And, probably the biggest difference:  The inclusion of the emergency return to the runway.  Glider pilots need to know what to do if there's a tow-rope break or other problem while flying but still low to the ground.  My equivalent is an engine failure just after takeoff.  I am, after all, in a glider.  You give me 500 feet and I've got all kinds of options.  But what about lower?  And what about being just off the end of the runway when Bad Things Happen?

My training in the TG-7A (also known at the Schweizer SGM 2-37) has involved a standardized and well-briefed procedure for returning to the runway.  As long as I have 300 feet above ground level (AGL) and I know which way any crosswind is coming from, I'm going back to the piece of pavement that I just left.  For my training, I push (hard!) to get and keep 80 mph of airspeed.  Then I bury the upwind wing to a 45-degree bank angle and pull something like 2G to get it around and pointed back at the runway.  After that, it's a pretty normal procedure.

Never, ever, ever do this in an aircraft that's not designed for it.  I'm a big proponent of the putatively "Impossible Turn," but only within well-specified and well-practiced procedures that you've done with an instructor at altitude dozens of times and done so recently.  And, in most single-engine airplanes, you need a lot more altitude and you need a lot more training than any other private pilot I've ever met has had.  If you don't know the altitudes, bank angles, and airspeeds; if you don't brief it before you firewall the throttle; and if you haven't practiced the procedure recently, you're an idiot if you try it.  Just land ahead and aim for the softest, least expensive thing within 30 degrees of your glide path.  It sure beats trying something heroic and being rewarded with a stall, a spin, and much worse results.  (By the way, not everybody agrees with me about turning back to the airport in a single-engine airplane.  Go talk to a skilled instructor that you know and trust and get his or her thoughts on the matter.  Better yet, go fly with your instructor and get a look (at a high altitude in the practice area) at what the procedure really looks like.  Then decide for yourself what your skill, currency, recency, proficiency, and aircraft dictate that you do.  And add 100 feet and 10 knots.)

All of the foregoing said, in this aircraft with these operating parameters and this training, I get the thrill of doing something that I wouldn't dream of doing in another kind of aircraft.  I get to bury a wing and pull and watch as the aircraft pivots beautifully around the wingtip - all right there within 100 yards of the ground.  Above is a four-camera video sequence of a training sortie that I flew on April 27.  It begins with an initial landing on Runway 27L at Oakland County International Airport (KPTK) and then a takeoff with a practice emergency turn back to Runway 9R.

I'm really enjoying my glider training and I'll plan to write more about it soon.  For those interested, I'm flying one of three TG-7As operated by the Tuskegee Airmen Glider Club, headquartered at Detroit City Airport (KDET).

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth - or just want a new challenge - aviation is always right there with more challenges than anyone could ever want.

The general public understands that, when a car’s engine stops running in an unplanned sort of way, that engine has “stalled.”

But “stall” means something completely different in the context of aviation.  A stall in an airplane usually has nothing to do with the engine. Sure, an airplane’s engine can stall, but aviators usually use some other word, such as “quit” or “stop.”

Let’s talk about how an airplane stalls. Airfoils develop lift by moving through the air. Airfoils include the wings on airplanes, the rotor blades on helicopters, and lots of other things. The control surfaces on airplanes and even the propeller blades themselves are also airfoils. Heck, a barn door can be an airfoil under the right circumstances.

We’re going to talk about some specific kinds of airfoils, namely the wings on airplanes. Generally, the aircraft engine rotates the propeller, pushing or pulling the airplane through the air and creating airflow over the wings. The wings develop lift when they interrupt the air, sending some over the top and some over the bottom. The air over the wings develops something called “laminar flow,” which is a fancy way of saying that the air on both the top and the bottom of the wing moves quickly and uniformly in the area very close to the wing.

The angle of a wing as it meets the airflow is called the “angle of attack.” When you tip a wing up into the airflow – when you increase the angle of attack - more air hits the bottom of the wing and there’s a greater pressure differential. Low angles of attack are good for cruising and that’s what you see when you see an airplane overhead that’s pretty much level and is on its way somewhere. High angles of attack are good for climbing. You can see an airplane with its wings at a high angle of attack every time you go to the airport and see them taking off.

With me so far?  Good! 

Imagine what would happen if you increased the angle of attack a lot. Thirty or forty degrees or something like that. At some point for every wing, the airflow is simply smacking the bottom of the wing and not enough air goes over the top of the wing to keep that laminar flow. Eddies and turbulence build up on the top of the wing and the laminar flow just dissolves.

At that point, the wing won’t fly anymore. It’s not developing lift. That angle of attack for any given wing is the “critical angle of attack.” When a wing exceeds its critical angle of attack, the wing is “stalled.” When aviators talk about an airplane being stalled, they mean that the airplane’s wings have exceeded the critical angle of attack and that the wings aren’t developing lift like they otherwise might. What does that look like? The airplane’s nose is usually very high and its forward speed is very low.

Technically speaking, stalls are entirely dependent on the angle of attack of the wing.  But airspeed (the speed of the airplane through the air) is a pretty good proxy for that angle of attack.  The slower the airplane is moving through the air, the less air is moving over the wing to create lift.  And the greater the necessary angle of attack if the airplane is to keep flying at the same altitude.  So sometimes pilots talk about stalls in terms of airspeed, specifically “stall speed,” below which the airplane will stall.  The slower the airspeed, the more likely it is that an airplane will stall.

Stalls can be bad if they occur when the pilot isn’t expecting it, so student pilots and experienced pilots alike practice stalling their aircraft so that they know how to recover from stalls. The private pilot practical test standards require that an applicant for a private pilot’s certificate for airplanes be able to stall an airplane – and recover – with a lot of power or with little or no power, and in turns either with or without power at bank angles of up to 20 degrees.
Stalls are bad at low altitude, such as when you’re taking off or landing. It generally takes some altitude in order to recover from a stall – about 100 feet in many aircraft in the case of a power-off stall. That’s altitude you might not have.

Stalls can also lead to other bad things. One of them is a spin. A spin happens when the airplane is stalled and “uncoordinated.” An airplane is uncoordinated with the tail is not where it’s supposed to be – when the pilot doesn’t use the rudder to keep the stalled airplane from rolling in the direction of the wing that is the most stalled. Too much rudder produces a “skid” and too little rudder produced s “slip.” 

If you stall and you’re sufficiently uncoordinated, one wing or the other will drop and the airplane will start falling in a lazy spiral. The spiral will be in the direction of the wing that is the most stalled. The other wing, the one that’s less stalled, will be flying just enough to keep the rotation going. It’s called “autorotation.” Being in a spin is very unpleasant if you’re not use to it. There’s a lot of green in the windshield and the airplane is turning at an increasing rate..

Stall and spin recovery isn’t particularly difficult. The pilot pushes on the yoke or stick to decrease the angle of attack and get laminar airflow over the wings.  That’s usually enough to recover from a stall that hasn’t developed into a spin.  If the aircraft has begun to spin, the pilot must usually use the rudder to stop the autorotation as well.

Aerobatic pilots go up and have fun with stalls and spins.  You might have seen aerobatic pilots at airshows performing maneuvers called “snap rolls,” “falling leaves,” “avalanches,” and other maneuvers with equally exciting names.  These maneuvers have stalls and spins as essential elements.  They look dramatic from the ground and they’re fun to do in the airplane once you’re received enough training and as long as you perform them at altitudes high enough to recover if you goof it up.

The way stalls get into the news – and the way most members of the media get the terminology wrong – is when a stall results in an accident that gets reported. As you can imagine, an accident could easily occur if you stalled an aircraft so close to the ground that you didn’t have enough altitude to recover. That’s doubly true for spins, because spins usually take something like a thousand feet in which to recover.

If a stall or spin results in an accident, it’s most often in the traffic pattern of an airport.  In the pattern, aircraft are moving more slowly and are turning and otherwise maneuvering to take off from, or to land on, a runway.  The most common stall or spin accident in the pattern is a spin on the turn from the base leg to the final leg.  That’s a 90-degree turn that begins when the pilot is flying perpendicular to the end of the runway and the pilot turns to point the airplane at the runway in order to land.  Sometimes wind or distractions cause the pilot to be further away from the final approach course than the pilot planned to be, so the pilot banks further than the pilot should or tries to increase turn rate using too much rudder (a “skid”).   If the pilot allows the airplane to get too slow at this point and the airplane stalls, the uncoordinated state of the airplane can lead to a spin at low altitude.

The aviation community knows a lot about stalls and spins in the pattern.  We pay a lot of attention to the accident reports so that we can learn from them.  Flight instructors work hard with student pilots so that they know how important airspeed and coordination are in the pattern.

Aerodynamic stalls are very rare in everyday flight operations. Unless you’re a pilot who’s training or performing aerobatics, the odds are very small that you’re ever experience one – even if you fly commercially every day of the week and on weekends, too, your whole life. They just don’t happen much.

Stalls are a natural result of the behaviors of airfoils under certain parts of the flight envelope. Aerobatic pilots put them to use in graceful and energetic performances around the world at airshows and other events. Student pilots train to recognize them and recover from them so that they can fly safely for decades to come.

I'm at the 2011 annual convention of the International Council of Air Shows at Paris Las Vegas.  It's an annual gathering of almost everyone who matters in the airshow industry.  The image above is from the welcome reception last night.  ICAS is always festive.  It's a reuinion of really good friends who might not see much of each other over the course of the year.  Or, if they do see each other at airshows, everybody's working and there isn't time to catch up.

This year has been more challenging than other recent years for the airshow industry.  After two years with no airshow fatalities, the 2011 season saw a number of them.  I was present at Selfridge ANGB in August when one of them occurred.  Several of my airshow acquaintances are not back in Vegas this year and we all feel the empty space that this leaves.

I leave out, for this discussion, the events at the Reno Air Races in September.  Airshows are a completely different animal from air races.  Air races are exciting and cool, but they're different.  Air races involve a competition in which the outcome is in question (e.g. you don't know who's going to win the race and much of the maneuvering is necessarily unplanned).  In airshows, everything is scripted.  The outcome is not contested and each performer flies a set program that must , among other things, have been practiced recently.  It's simply a different kind of activity.  No better, no worse.  Just different.

The airshow industry is one made up of professionals that take the calculus of risk very seriously.  And, yesterday, an annual event occurred that is one of the things that makes me most proud to hang out with these people.  At 3:30 yesterday, the performers walked into a room and closed the door behind them.  No media (including me).  No distractions.  Nothing that could compromise an environment in which full, frank, and even brutal discussion can occur.

In that room, the performers conducted a debrief of the 2011 season.  What went wrong.  What went right.  What they need to do in 2012 and beyond.  Many in the airshow industry refer to the standard of airshow performance this way.  "Perfection is expected.  Excellence will be accepted."   I see that put into action at airshows and at conferences like this all year.

Airshow fatalitities were averaging a dozen or so each year in the years leading up to the 1991 season.  In the winter preceding the 1991 season, ICAS assumed responsibility for the Aerobatic Competency Evaluation program.  In the years after that, the number of fatalities was cut in half.  In 2009 and 2010, there were no airshow performer fatalities at all at airshows.  And there hasn't been a spectator fatality in decades.  The process that happens both here at the convention and out in the field is largely responsible for that.

This mentality is important to any kind of aviation or anything else worth doing.  It doesn't matter who you are or how good you are.  You must be willing to leave your ego at the door and give and accept criticism of your processes, practices, techniques, and training.

You're reading this because you've come to AOPA's site to learn some more about general aviation and perhaps think about taking to the skies yourself.  Maybe you didn't expect to read about airshow people and the processes that they use.  You almost certainly didn't come here to read about a rough airshow season.  But the airshow mentality can and should be a big part of the way in which you approach GA.

No reasonable person in the GA industry will tell you that GA is absolutely safe.  Fact:  It isn't.  GA pilots don't fly the profiles that airshow performers do, but we face some risk, just the same.

The thing that makes me most proud - and the reason that you should want to join the tribe of general aviation pilots - is that most pilots understand risk and understand how to mitigate it.  We train for everything we can think of.  We fly to standards.  And the very best of of debrief every single flight.  We talk about what we did right.  We talk about what we did wrong.  We talk about how to improve.  There is no rank, no seniority, and no free pass.  The laws of physics don't give a darn how many hours are in your logbook and we know it.  Some of us even adopt the phraseology that the Blue Angels use in their debriefs, even after an really savage critique: "I'll fix my safeties and I'm glad to be here."

We know, based on solid evidence, exactly what we can do to reduce known risks.  AOPA, the FAA, and other organizations study aviation safety exhaustively.  There's very little mystery.  We know where the low-hanging fruit is.  We know where we need to make the more difficult improvements.  And we talk about it constantly.

We can make (and we have made!) general aviation much more safe than it was in its infancy and early development.  And a large part of that is full and frank discussion of the risk, how we deal with it, and what we're going to do on the very next flight we take in order to make that happen.

How would you like to be able to say that you hang out with people who are this open, honest, and credible?  You can, but the price of admission is high.  Perfection is expected.  Excellence will be accepted.  Sound like the kind of challenge and the kind of tribe with which you want to be associated?

I thought so.  See you up there.

On Sunday 6 November, I rode along with The Hoppers, a four-ship team that flies the Czech-built Aero Vodochody L-39 Albatross.  It was a one-day practice session that took place at various airports across northern Illinois. I shot the team’s promotional video over the course of two days at the Battle Creek Field of Flight Airshow and Balloon Festival in July.  It was overcast with low visibility both days for the initial shoot. 

The video turned out fine, but there’s nothing like sunshine to make the aircraft look better and the maneuvers look more dynamic.  I offered to go back up to shoot more on a different day when we might have a better chance of getting sun on the airplanes.  Plus, it’s not like flying again in an L-39 is such a bad thing.  You could accuse me of hoping for overcast skies on the first shoot so I’d have an excuse to go fly again, but you can’t prove anything.

We launched out of Battle Creek (KBTL) around 0830 local and met up with two of the other team members at Waukegan Regional Airport (KUGN) about an hour later. 

The profile called for departure fromWaukegan with hops to two other nearby airports (nearby being a relative term if you’re flying in a Mach 0.8-capable jet), namely Quad City International Airport (KMLI) inMoline and Whiteside County Airport/Jos. H. Bittorf Field (KSQI). 

When we arrived atWaukegan, the Patriot Guard Riders were on hand awaiting the arrival of the body of Army SFC David Robinson, who died while serving with the Army inRiyadh,Saudi Arabia.  The Hoppers saddled up to go practice, but timed the departure to fly a missing man formation for SFC Robinson.  WGN TV captured the formation and you can see it here. 

The remainder of the day consisted mainly of The Hoppers practicing formation flight and their airshow routine. Formation takeoff, form up into a finger-four, switch to diamond and/or arrow, several formation passes, a break on a line away from the crowd, and single-ship high-speed passes down the show line.

It’s one thing to watch a jet team from the show line.  It’s quite another to watch the sequence from the back of one of the jets, listening to the radio calls, experiencing the Gs, and trying to capture it all with a handheld camera.  I had six or seven cameras mounted among the aircraft, but the handheld camera usually ends up capturing at least half of the usable shots because you can pick and choose what you shoot.

The weather was again overcast, but I got good sun on the aircraft as we joined up over Kenosha before landing at Waukegan and again at a couple of places en route to the other sites.  I’ll likely add in the footage that I shot Sunday with the other footage and add another chorus of the music to extend the video.

Shooting the video was a great experience.  But there was more to it than that.  I got to fly the jet for the climb and cruise over Lake Michigan and again en route between a couple of the airports that we used in Illinois.  I have very little jet time (at least jet time at the controls).  An hour in the Cessna Citation Mustang in 2009 and that’s about it.  But it turns out that many of the skills that one learns through primary training and the instrument rating work no matter what you’re flying.

Bear in mind that I took the controls with the jet well-trimmed and on course.  I flew a basic climb and cruise, and some very basic stationkeeping in an en route spread formation.  I had a well-qualified airshow formation pilot in the front seat.  I was not pilot in command (because, among other things, any turbine-powered aircraft requires that the pilot have a type rating in the aircraft type before logging PIC).  And no cranking and banking. 

But still, I reaffirmed what I’ve thought for some time.  For the most part, Newton and Bernoulli don’t really care whether you’re flying an L-39 or a Piper Cub.  Yeah, there are differences in behaviors at high and low speeds and some control surfaces that are different (e.g. flaps and speed brakes).  And things happen a lot faster in an L-39 than they do in the aircraft that I usually fly.   But, for the relevant part of the flight envelope, the skills that I’ve developed by training for ratings, flying with the Civil Air Patrol, and flying light aerobatics all cross over to flying a jet trainer.  And that goes for the skills that you’re developing when you begin or continue your flight training.  Pitch, power, and trim matter no matter what fixed-wing aircraft you’re flying.

Here’s the other, and perhaps most impressive, thing about flying with a jet team like The Hoppers.  I got to sit though their debriefs from each flight.  These are guys with thousands of hours in all kinds of aircraft.  Each could be forgiven for having an ego about his skills.

But egoes, if team members brought them to the practice at all, get checked at the ramp.  Each flight (and, sometimes, each repetition of the routine during the same flight) concludes with a brutally honest debrief of what happened, what was good, what was bad, what was a safety issue, and what to do better the next time.

And that’s nothing compared to what will happen in a few weeks at the International Council of Air Shows Convention in Las Vegas.  In two separate sessions, the airshow performers and the air bosses will head into conference rooms and close the doors.  The things that go on in those rooms constitutes some of the most important business that happens at ICAS.  The comminutes of airshow performers and air bosses go over accidents, incidents, and anything else that they’re seen or experienced over the course of the prior year that affected safety and how to improve it going forward.

I’ve never been to one of those sessions.  Make no mistake, I’d love to go.  And my audience is hyper-interested in what gets said behind those closed doors.  But I steer clear because I’m at ICAS as a member of the media.  And the purpose of those meetings is to have the kinds of full and frank discussions that save lives.  As much as I’d like to be there and as proud as what they do in there makes me to be associated with these people, I don’t want my presence to keep anyone from speaking his or her mind.

In any case, I take it as a real lesson for my flying.  If these people – whose flight skills are light years ahead of mine – can give and take objective (sometimes harsh) criticism, the very least I can do is try to apply that to my own flying.  I seek criticism each time I fly with another pilot.  Especially on my flight reviews and on annual stan/eval rides for CAP.  And I seek criticism from pilot-rated passengers in the airplane even when I’m on a routine flight.

I don’t always take every criticism to heart or change things based on what I hear.  But I shut up and listen for as long as the other guy or gal is talking.  Failing to solicit and fully consider criticism means failing to take an opportunity to learn and become a better and safer pilot.

The next time (or the first time!) you head to the airport to train, remember that the skills that you’re learning are some of the same skills that you see your airshow performer heroes using in the box in front of the crowd.  And, perhaps more importantly, the next time your instructor or a fellow pilot criticizes you, remember that the willingness and ability to accept and fully consider that criticism is also a vital skill of both Cessna 152 drivers and airshow pilots alike.

I’ve written before about the fact that aviation provides challenges worthy of any level of skill.  And I thought that now might be a good time to check back in from my wanderings on the frontiers and tell you that – yeah – it’s still true.

Not that I expected to find anything different.  But my current explorations are of degree, not of kind.

Several years ago, after having had my private pilot certificate for about four years, I began flying aerobatics.  My first ride was with Brett Hunter in 2007 in a modified Pitts S-2C that didn’t even have controls in the front cockpit.  Later, I started flying acro in a Citabria and a Super Decathlon.  When we shot the first Acro Camp movie last year, Don Weaver brought the Pitts S-2B over from Berz Flight Training at the Ray Community Airport and we used it in the film.

I flew in the airplane (note that I said “flew in the airplane” and not “flew the airplane”) with Don for the camera and tech shakedowns and the, later in the summer, I flew with Don while he practiced for an upcoming IAC competition.

Since then, Don has talked me into signing up to fly in my first aerobatic competition.  I'm going to fly the IAC Primary sequence at the Michigan Aerobatic Open July 7-10 at Jackson County Reynolds Field (KJXN) organized by IAC Chapter 88.  Don is taking the Pitts and will be my safety pilot for the competition.  I've been flying the maneuvers with Don for a week or so and I' have a lot more practice to get through before tyhe contest.

The Pitts is freaky-powerful.  There’s a 260-hp engine in the nose that pulls about 1,650 lbs of airplane, fuel, and pilots off the runway and through maneuvers with serious acceleration.  It’ll climb at 2,700 ft./min., dive at 182 knots, and easily withstand +6/-3G. 

It’s a taildragger with a big nose.  You have to taxi like a drunken sailor so you can catch glimpses around the side of the nose to see where you’re going.

All of the really important stuff is in the back seat of this two-seat machine.  Which is why the instructor sits back there.  In the front, you have a stick and a pair of rudder pedals.  You have a big handle for the throttle and metal rod that controls the propeller’s pitch.  You have rudimentary engine gages, an airspeed indicator, and a G meter.  And darned little else.

Your head sticks up just a little past the top of the fuselage.  You can’t see much of anything forward as you look through the network of wing supports.  You can’t see much of anything to your left or right, either unless it’s straight out to the side.

If you ordinarily fly Cessna 172s and 182s like I do, flying the Pitts is eye-opening to say the least.  You line up on the runway, push the throttle full forward, hear the massive howl of that engine, and get pressed back against your shoulder blades as the airplane accelerates forward.  A few seconds later, you push the stick a little and the tail comes up. 

You can see a little better now, but you can’t see the runway in front of you.  You’re simply keeping the runway edges in your peripheral vision.  You have several more seconds before you lift off.  And there’s nothing you can do other than just sit there behind this huge engine, dancing on the rudder pedals and whispering admonitions to Isaac Newton and Daniel Bernoulli to keep you from sloughing wildly over into the runway edge lights or worse.

Then you’re off and climbing.  You settle into a pitch attitude that gives you 110 knots and weave back and forth as gracefully as you can so that you can see any traffic ahead of you.

The aerobatics are really interesting.  I’ve flown as much as most straight-and-level pilots in Citabrias and Super Decathlons.  They require a lot of skill because you have only so much energy and you can’t just power though the maneuvers.  You have to have finesse to fly good acro in a Citabria or a Super D.  Many say that it’s actually easier to fly acro in a Pitts.  I believe them.

But you also have to get used the size and ferocity of the tiger whose tail you grip in your right hand.  The ability to power though maneuvers brings with it a lot of sensitivity of the controls and a need to respect the speed with which the airplane can exceed its design limits if you let it. It also means that you can throw yourself around the cockpit pretty smartly if you’re not smooth.

I’m flying the IAC Primary sequence in competition next month.  I climb at 45 degrees nose-up, then I spin it down for one full turn.  Pointed straight down at the ground, I put in full power, then pull out.  Now doing something like 160 knots, I pull up and over the first five eighths of a loop, then fly upside down at a 45-degree angle before rolling upright and pulling out.  I probably have about 160 knots of airspeed again, so I pull up again and this time I do a full loop.  I’m getting to the other end of the box by now, so I have to turn around.  I bank over to 70 degrees, neutralize the stick, and then pull hard for 180 degrees of turn.  If I’ve done everything right at this point, I have enough airspeed to slowly roll all the way around 180 degrees without losing any altitude.

They call this “primary.”  Hah!  Really?  But, if you look at the tougher sequences for the sportsman, intermediate, advanced, and unlimited categories, it really is primary.  So, after practicing elements of the sequence, we fly back to the airport. 

If you think that taking off in a Pitts is exciting, try landing!  Remember what I said about the nose being so high that you have to swerve back and forth as you taxi to see what’s in front of you?  That taxi attitude is the same as your landing attitude.  So you can’t see the runway upon which you’re going to land.  You get a last glimpse of the runway centerline as you’re on short final and you try to fix that picture in your mind.  You pitch up into the same tail-low attitude that the airplane has on the ground.  (After all, you’re trying to land on all three wheels at once, right?)

The landscape to either side of you comes up around your shoulders slowly and you hold that attitude, straining your peripheral vision.  Once you get low enough, you begin to see the runway edges off to the side.  Ideally, you want to see it on both sides.  If you don’t, it’s time to power up and go around.  If you do, you just hold that attitude and wait.  And wait.  If you’ve experienced a longer three or four seconds than the three or four seconds it takes for a Pitts to land from that point, I don’t want to hear about it.

Thud!  That’s the mains and the tailwheel.  You’re down.  Kind of.  The stick comes all the way back.  Keep that tailwheel down.  Thud again!  You’re really down this time.  Now it’s all about your feet.  Keeping the big machine somewhere close to the middle of the runway that you still can’t see over the nose.  After a few more seconds, you slide your feet up onto the toes of the rudder pedals so that you can use the brakes.  Be gentle!  You don’t want to hurt the tires or the brakes.  And you don’t want to lock one up and go sideways.

Eventually, the airplane comes to a stop.  You’ve done it!  You just took off, flew aerobatics, and landed.  In a Pitts.  One of the most legendary aerobatic airplanes on – or off – the planet.

Why am I writing this on a blog that’s ostensibly aimed at non-pilots or low-time student pilots whom AOPA is trying to encourage to learn to fly?  What does this have to do with learning to fly in a relatively benign Skyhawk, Skycatcher, or Cherokee?

Everything, everything, everything!

I need you to know that this flying thing is deeper and wider and higher than you can possibly imagine.  I regard myself as a pretty competent and skilled pilot for a guy with my experience (about 330 hours).  But there are aircraft, airports, activities, and circumstances that still put me way back on my heels, wondering what the heck I’ve gotten myself into.  It takes me right back to the feeling of my very first time trying to operate a Cherokee and discovering how much I had to learn.

I need you to know that there will be days during your primary training when you’ll find yourself in the airport parking lot shaking your head and wondering how you’ll ever be able to operate an aircraft and feel as though you’re in command of it.  I need you to know that those days are humbling, but those days will form the hard-fought basis of the pride that you’ll feel when you break through a plateau in your training or learn a new skill or pass your checkride.

Would you really still be reading this if flying wasn’t, at some level, a challenge that appealed to you? 

We lost the mere browsers and posers 500 words ago.  It's just you and me now.  We can talk as kindred spirits:  You’re a person who appreciates challenges.  Especially ones that you know in your gut that you can meet with the right training and encouragement.

Flying is one such challenge.

I drive out to the airport to go fly that Pitts with Don because the sensations of my initial training come back to me powerfully when I strap on that airplane.  Just like before, I have a strong, patient, and competent instructor in the airplane with me.  Just like before, I’m behind the airplane more than I like to admit.  Just like before, I have a lot to learn.

But, just like before, I have moments of competence.  Sometimes, I even execute elegant little pirouettes or screaming pulls that give me a glimpse of the pilot – of the human – that I will become if I keep this up.  So do you think I'll keep it up?  Yeah.  Me, too.

If you’re thinking about flight training, I can promise you this:  Flying is a challenge worthy of your time, treasure, enthusiasm, and passion.  And there are professionals like Don Weaver and organizations like AOPA that can give you the tools to take on the challenge at every stage.

And you might even find that the challenge is addictive.  That, far from being discouraging, it turns into the fuel for that fire in your belly and calls you back to the airport again and again, seeking more and better things to which to aspire.

I believe this with all my heart.  That is why, even when I'm holding on for dear life behind that huge engine and tap-dancing down the runway waiting for Pitts to lift off, I have never, ever wondered why I do this.

As North America gradually becomes warmer and greener, it’s time to start thinking in earnest about the upcoming flying season.  Not that flying stops when the landscape gets white.  In fact, some of the very best flying weather happens in the middle of winter.  Want to know what it feels like to be at pattern altitude before you turn downwind?  Go fly on a cold, clear day!

But flying is a much more reliable proposition in the summer.  I live in Michigan, so I never completely discount the possibility of a blizzard in April, but you have a much better chance of getting to fly when you plan to fly.

And, not coincidentally, this is the time when the really big adventures happen.  Opportunities to go see what the edges of the envelope look like.

If you’ve never flown aerobatically, you’ll find that a lot of the Citabrias, Super Decathlons, Pitts S-2s, and other aerobatic aircraft are starting to stir.  It’s a great time to go get some aerobatic training.  Or at least to make plans and call around to see where you can get upside down.

Remember that aerobatic time is useful no matter who you are.  Even if you’re a primary student (and even if you’ve never flown anything at all), aerobatic time with an instructor counts toward your private certificate.  And, even if you’re a long-time pilot, you’ll be safer and more confident if you’ve been inverted or done a few cross-controlled stalls or spins in a rated airplane with a qualified instructor.

Better yet, get a group together to go fly some acro.  If you’ve never flown acro before, you’re probably going to last about 20 minutes on your first flight.  That’s not a lot of airtime considering that you have to brief, get the airplane out, put the airplane away, etc.  But, if you get three or four of your friends together at the school, you can all go through the briefing together and then fly one after the other.  You might even be able to get a break on the airplane rental and instructor fees if you come in a group.

And there’s nothing more fun than hanging out with your friends and sharing the experience of doing something for the first time.  I know.  I shot a movie about it last summer.  And everybody wants to come back and do it again, regardless of whether we shoot another movie!

As everyone who’s been reading my posts here knows, I’m an enthusiastic Civil Air Patrol officer.  CAP really accelerates its training pace during the summer.  Last year, I went through the pilot track at CAP’s National Emergency Services Academy Mission Aircrew School (NESA-MAS) near Columbus, Indiana.  I learned a lot about search-and-rescue flying and met some of my new best friends in the process.  Plus, I got to see how people from other wings did things and I compared my skills and procedures with those of other CAP pilots.

NESA is great for senior pilots, but it also has lots of opportunities for non-pilots or for pilots with less experience and time.  Remember that two out of the three roles on most CAP aircrews (observer and scanner) are non-flying jobs that still put you in an aircraft and depend on your skills.

And, even if you don’t make it to NESA, many wings take advantage of the summer weather to conduct search and rescue exercises (“SAREXes”) that are like NESA, only they’re more local and usually run one or two days.  It’s a great opportunity to earn your CAP ratings and hang out at the airport with like-minded people.  Plus, if you’re aircrew, you get to wear that favorite item of pilot clothing: The flight suit.  (Is it wrong to love an item of clothing as much as I love my flight suit?)

So don’t let it get to be mid-summer before you make your plans!  Now is the time to look ahead and plan some adventures.  Get on the Web, get on the phone, and get into an aircraft!

The Let’s Go Flying website is, among other things, designed to appeal to those thinking about flying but who need that last bit of information or inspiration to get them down to the local airport and behind the controls of an aircraft.

But it probably comes as no surprise that many of the visitors to the site are already head-over-heels in love with aviation and would be student pilots in a heartbeat, but the magic circumstances simply haven’t come together yet to allow them to initiate or complete flight training.  This post is for them.

Folks, you’ve come to the right place.  It’s okay to hang out here and read about aviation and exchange ideas with people who are beginning to fly, who are training, or who are pilots doing very cool things.  Even if you’re not able to chase the dream in a more hands-on way right now.  Especially if you’re not able to chase the dream in a more hands-on way right now.

Let me introduce you to the most excitable aviation enthusiast I know.  His name is David Allen.  He lives in Florida with his growing family.  He was an active Civil Air Patrol cadet in his youth.  He has accumulated a couple of dozen hours in single-engine airplanes.  But life just hasn’t (yet) handed him the circumstances that will let him pursue flight training as actively as he’d like.

But Dave is as active as any non-pilot as I know in the aviation world.  He’s regularly at NASA Tweet-ups at Kennedy Space Center.  He co-hosts The Pilot’s Flight PodLog, an aviation podcast.  He’s a regular volunteer for Sun ‘N Fun Radio.  And he came up to Michigan and served as camera and tech crew for the Acro Camp movie shoot in May 2010 (during which he spent an hour in the Acro Camp Pitts S-2B with Don Weaver doing aerobatics – and flew some of the acro himself).  Dave knows more about warbirds than many who fly them.  I’d have to have to compete with Dave in a make/model recognition contest.

Dave is as involved as any non-pilot I know and more involved than many pilots I know.  So I use Dave as an example to anyone who’ll listen.  Through his new-media and social-media connections, he’s been up with several airshow performers and others in a wide variety of aircraft.  And Dave has a far-flung network of pilot friends.  Friends are important when you begin your training.  I did a lot of my training in isolation without a circle of pilot friends with whom to share stories and ideas.  Dave won’t lack for a network of experienced pilots and other aviation enthusiasts then it’s his turn at the yoke or stick.

My friend Dave is living proof that not being a pilot (yet) doesn’t mean that you can’t get involved. 

In fact, now is the best time to get involved.  You have the luxury of picking up aerodynamics and regulatory information and the other book-learning at your leisure.  Whatever interests you.  So, when it’s time to actually knuckle down and study for your FAA written exam, you’ll have a great base from which to proceed.

It’s okay to bum rides from pilots.  Find an airport and hang out there.  Get to know the locals.  If there’s anything that pilots love more than giving rides to enthusiastic people, I don’t know what it is.  It might surprise you to learn that even fully-certificated pilots do exactly that.  We bum rides, too!  It’s fun and you’ll get experience in a wide variety of airplanes and with a wide variety of pilots.

If you’re under 18, consider becoming a Civil Air Patrol cadet.  CAP cadets get to go on orientation flights (called “O-rides”) and actually get to fly the airplane.  Under the supervision of an experienced pilot who remains pilot-in-command, to be sure.  But they get to operate the flight controls. 

And, if you’re over 18, you can rapidly find yourself wearing a flight suit as a mission scanner (the skilled eyeballs in the back seats) or mission observer (the commander of the mission, who sits in the right seat) in a CAP aircrew, even if you’re not a pilot.  Truth be told, if I’m in the left seat in a CAP aircraft, if the weather is nice, if the air is smooth, and if I need a few minutes to check charts or fiddle with the panel, I like having the person in the right seat – rated pilot or not – fly the airplane.  It’s all completely within the regs and I like knowing that my right-seater can hold a heading and an altitude if I need him or her to do so.

The bottom like is that you need to keep the fire burning.  Whatever barriers are keeping you from flying now probably won’t be barriers forever.  Do whatever you need to do in the meantime to be ready when the time comes and you can launch your aviation adventure in a more hands-on way.

David Allen and others like him (like you!) are absolutely essential to the future growth of the pilot population.  We need you.  We write stuff like this because we want you here and excited about aviation.  So, when the time comes, you can think of the huge smiles that we’ll all be wearing as you tool around the pattern on your first solo.

Keep the fire burning!