I'll let you in on a little secret amongst us pilots. It's not the landings, but taking off, that makes us nervous.
Landing an airplane is a piece of cake - you can do it anywhere. Even in the event of a catastrophic engine failure, practically every airplane will glide to a certain degree. Moreover, airplanes rarely fail while in-flight. An engine at cruise is not likely to suddenly stop without warning. Even while performing a controlled landing, a proficient pilot will always leave enough room in the unlikely event of trouble.
Taking off is another story. For those first few, crucial moments, pilot and passengers are wholly dependent on mechanics. Engines abruptly boosted to maximum power are more likely to fail, bird strikes are more common - factors that are beyond the pilot's control. A seasoned airline pilot once told me, "I always have white knuckles whenever we take off."
I'm not going to say I was nervous, but I certainly had an option picked out as I eased the Fairchild to full throttle and felt the earth roll beneath her wheels. Seated next to me was my friend Pat Weeden, who was riding along as photographer. We were fully loaded with 60 gallons of fuel, and in addition carried camera equipment and two days' worth of luggage for two dudes. Neither Pat nor I were small guys, so as the wheels left the earth I knew the airplane was close to her maximum weight.
Just off the runway, I held the nose level for a few moments to pick up speed. The engine roared flawlessly. All parameters were normal, so I pulled the stick back to gain altitude. If the engine quit now, I'd use my airspeed and make a forced landing on Highway 11/81, just west of Brodhead. Beneath my sunglasses I smiled - I could just picture the headline.
Climbing above treetop level I gripped the stick, anticipating. There was a slight but nasty crosswind, and once above the protection of the trees, it slammed into the aircraft. I was ready, and all Pat felt was a slight wing-up to the left as I effortlessly compensated.
Just minutes into our flight I relaxed. We had altitude, airspeed, and everything was running normal. I banked the Fairchild to the southeast and picked up our course. We would follow a compass heading of 150 degrees to Morris, Ill. - just southwest of Joliet. Once over Morris, I would make a slight correction to 120 degrees, following the compass all the way to Dayton, Ohio.
In the meantime, the cloudy overcast was breaking up, with clear skies ahead. I watched exuberant as the earth rolled by, more than 2,000 feet beneath the wings. Pat chimed in, "Looks like we've got a heck of a tailwind - we should be in Dayton in about two hours."
He was right - I glanced at the GPS, which indicated a ground speed of nearly 180 miles per hour. We were cruising in absolute style and class, riding a 1939 Fairchild, model 24. The old girl growled through the air, exuding confidence. Now, an invisible hand was pushing her along. Our adventure to Dayton just got a whole lot more economical.
This coming Friday, April 18, is a red-letter date in American history. Just over seven decades ago, a group of 80 airmen achieved the impossible by delivering the first air strike against Japan during World War II. They were all volunteers, the youngest in their early 20s. A man led them by the name of James Doolittle who, in every sense of the term, was an aviation pioneer.
Doolittle served as a flight instructor during World War I, and later became famous as an air racer, setting speed records and winning the aviation equivalent of the Triple Crown. His contributions extended to navigational equipment, and Doolittle helped to develop the "Artificial Horizon" and "Directional Gyro," both of which are still used today.
James Doolittle was the first pilot to take off, fly, and land an airplane completely on instruments. He achieved this feat in 1929, in the midst of the era that produced my Fairchild.
Pat was right. Just two hours after departing Brodhead, we entered Dayton airspace. Aviation has come a long way since Doolittle's heyday. Twenty miles out, Dayton International had me on radar, and vectored us into an approach. As I swung the Fairchild around, that beautiful, fuel-saving tailwind became a buffeting headwind. We descended toward the runway using full power, something I've never had to do. As we cleared the numbers I joked to Pat, "I'll just pull her back to idle and we can land vertically."
I taxied off the runway and was guided to the General Aviation tarmac, ever mindful of the level of service one receives when traveling by air. Even before Pat and I had disembarked the aircraft, the wheels were chocked and our rental car brought out by airport personnel. It had taken us precisely two-and-a-half hours from takeoff at Brodhead to engine shutdown at Dayton, Ohio. For us, the best was yet to come.
Pat recorded our flight from Brodhead to Dayton via a strut-mounted camera. Simply go to Youtube.com and search "C37 to Dayton." The video is only about five minutes long, but captures everything from takeoff to taxi. Note that 10 minutes into the flight, we are already over Rockford.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Landing an airplane is a piece of cake - you can do it anywhere. Even in the event of a catastrophic engine failure, practically every airplane will glide to a certain degree. Moreover, airplanes rarely fail while in-flight. An engine at cruise is not likely to suddenly stop without warning. Even while performing a controlled landing, a proficient pilot will always leave enough room in the unlikely event of trouble.
Taking off is another story. For those first few, crucial moments, pilot and passengers are wholly dependent on mechanics. Engines abruptly boosted to maximum power are more likely to fail, bird strikes are more common - factors that are beyond the pilot's control. A seasoned airline pilot once told me, "I always have white knuckles whenever we take off."
I'm not going to say I was nervous, but I certainly had an option picked out as I eased the Fairchild to full throttle and felt the earth roll beneath her wheels. Seated next to me was my friend Pat Weeden, who was riding along as photographer. We were fully loaded with 60 gallons of fuel, and in addition carried camera equipment and two days' worth of luggage for two dudes. Neither Pat nor I were small guys, so as the wheels left the earth I knew the airplane was close to her maximum weight.
Just off the runway, I held the nose level for a few moments to pick up speed. The engine roared flawlessly. All parameters were normal, so I pulled the stick back to gain altitude. If the engine quit now, I'd use my airspeed and make a forced landing on Highway 11/81, just west of Brodhead. Beneath my sunglasses I smiled - I could just picture the headline.
Climbing above treetop level I gripped the stick, anticipating. There was a slight but nasty crosswind, and once above the protection of the trees, it slammed into the aircraft. I was ready, and all Pat felt was a slight wing-up to the left as I effortlessly compensated.
Just minutes into our flight I relaxed. We had altitude, airspeed, and everything was running normal. I banked the Fairchild to the southeast and picked up our course. We would follow a compass heading of 150 degrees to Morris, Ill. - just southwest of Joliet. Once over Morris, I would make a slight correction to 120 degrees, following the compass all the way to Dayton, Ohio.
In the meantime, the cloudy overcast was breaking up, with clear skies ahead. I watched exuberant as the earth rolled by, more than 2,000 feet beneath the wings. Pat chimed in, "Looks like we've got a heck of a tailwind - we should be in Dayton in about two hours."
He was right - I glanced at the GPS, which indicated a ground speed of nearly 180 miles per hour. We were cruising in absolute style and class, riding a 1939 Fairchild, model 24. The old girl growled through the air, exuding confidence. Now, an invisible hand was pushing her along. Our adventure to Dayton just got a whole lot more economical.
This coming Friday, April 18, is a red-letter date in American history. Just over seven decades ago, a group of 80 airmen achieved the impossible by delivering the first air strike against Japan during World War II. They were all volunteers, the youngest in their early 20s. A man led them by the name of James Doolittle who, in every sense of the term, was an aviation pioneer.
Doolittle served as a flight instructor during World War I, and later became famous as an air racer, setting speed records and winning the aviation equivalent of the Triple Crown. His contributions extended to navigational equipment, and Doolittle helped to develop the "Artificial Horizon" and "Directional Gyro," both of which are still used today.
James Doolittle was the first pilot to take off, fly, and land an airplane completely on instruments. He achieved this feat in 1929, in the midst of the era that produced my Fairchild.
Pat was right. Just two hours after departing Brodhead, we entered Dayton airspace. Aviation has come a long way since Doolittle's heyday. Twenty miles out, Dayton International had me on radar, and vectored us into an approach. As I swung the Fairchild around, that beautiful, fuel-saving tailwind became a buffeting headwind. We descended toward the runway using full power, something I've never had to do. As we cleared the numbers I joked to Pat, "I'll just pull her back to idle and we can land vertically."
I taxied off the runway and was guided to the General Aviation tarmac, ever mindful of the level of service one receives when traveling by air. Even before Pat and I had disembarked the aircraft, the wheels were chocked and our rental car brought out by airport personnel. It had taken us precisely two-and-a-half hours from takeoff at Brodhead to engine shutdown at Dayton, Ohio. For us, the best was yet to come.
Pat recorded our flight from Brodhead to Dayton via a strut-mounted camera. Simply go to Youtube.com and search "C37 to Dayton." The video is only about five minutes long, but captures everything from takeoff to taxi. Note that 10 minutes into the flight, we are already over Rockford.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
