Instrument Pilot at last!

Gack.

My Private Pilot certificate was easy. 42.6 hours. Someone even started the "IHKFGHTSQ club" (I Hate Kent For Getting His Ticket So Quickly) on a web board I participated on.

Instrument is a different story. I've been doing plenty of flying besides training, but I have about 275 hours total flight time, 115 hours cross country pilot-in-command time (50 hours required for the instrument), and 90 hours instrument time (40 required). I took my first instrument lesson in September of 2003. It's been much more difficult (though I can probably attribute part of that to an extremely thorough flight instructor). I've been very close to a checkride twice (Nov. 04 and Jul. 05) and had conflicts which kept me from flying for a while and set me back.

I finally got the signoff from my instructor. My oral exam went well (Pilot examiner's comment: "I really like your thought processes.") I was in a different airplane than normal because "my" airplane is having about $9000 worth of unscheduled engine work done to it.

My planned flight for the checkride was to Springfield, IL. We took off on runway 32 and got vectored around to the south, and joined V9 ("Victor niner," a low-altitude airway). After reaching cruising altitude and being handed over to Rockford approach, I canceled the flight plan at the examiner's request (this is normal for a checkride). I got hit with a bunch of stuff at once: From a heading of 045 (northeast), a clearing turn to 360 while slowing to 65 knots, then clearing turn to 090. After starting the second turn, I had to keep the lower power setting I was using to slow down and stall in the turn at that power setting.

Next, I had to intercept the 001 radial off JVL (Janesville VOR, a radio navigation aid) and fly north on it. Then, I was given some holding instructions. Due to a misunderstanding, I started the hold south of the fix. The DPE (designated pilot examiner), playing ATC (air traffic control), asked that I read the approach clearance back to him and gave me an amended clearance that had me holding north of the fix.

After entering the hold, we did unusual attitudes, where I had to put my head down so I couldn't see anything but my lap and the examiner put the plane into various positions (such as nose up and banked way over to the side) that you wouldn't normally encounter. I've gotten really good at those and easily recovered from all of them.

Finally, it was time for the approaches. We started out with the ILS 36. (ILS = "Instrument Landing System," consisting of a pair of radio beams - the Localizer which provides horizontal guidance and the Glideslope which provides vertical guidance.) This was fairly easy, I had lots of time to get set up for it and, well, it's an ILS. The localizer was nailed, and the glideslope was too until about 100 feet above DH (Decision Height, where you either have to be able to see the airport to land, or execute a "missed approach" and climb back out). I still kept it within one dot (the gauge has five dots on each side of center, and you must keep the needles within three dots of center for the entire approach to pass the ride.)

We missed off that approach and got vectors for a climb to do the full VOR 32 approach. There was a nice wind out of the West, so I ended up getting basically dumped right on top of the VOR and cleared for the approach in short order, not nearly enough time to get set up. I asked for a hold so I could have more time, ATC offered vectors instead. Due to time constraints, the DPE acted as my autopilot for a moment so that we could avoid either of the above. (I did at least think to start my timer when crossing the VOR.) I quickly set up and briefed the approach, did the procedure turn, and headed inbound. This approach was done "partial panel," with some of the instruments covered up. This approach went quite well also. We got the option this time (when ATC clears you for "the option" you are cleared for your choice of a landing, touch and go, or low approach) and I did a touch and go.

Finally, the non-precision circling approach. We got vectored back around for the ILS to 36 but the #1 radio failed just after I went missed off the last approach. I quickly tuned Approach and Tower into #2 (Hooray for flip-flop radios - They allow you to have both an active and a standby frequency and switch between them with the touch of a button). I also tuned the localizer into #2. Unfortunately, only the #1 radio is equipped with a glideslope, making this a Localizer-only approach. We climbed to 3000 and were assigned a 200 heading. Enough time for a trip through the approach checklist. Everything's clicking, I informed Approach that we wanted to circle to land on runway 32. Almost there!

Next, I got a vector to 070, completed the landing checklist, and we were given the approach clearance: "Archer 8262 Sierra, three miles from OZMIX, turn left heading 020, maintain two thousand seven hundred until established, cleared ILS 36, localizer only at your discretion." The localizer was alive before I even started the turn, so I continued the turn all the way to the inbound course and managed to get the needle centered perfectly right off the bat. OK, we're established, we're high, we can go down. I began the descent.

One minute later...

DPE: "Where's OZMIX?"
Me: Oh &*()@%.

I knew without even looking that I was still outside the final approach fix, where I needed to be at 2500 feet or more. I knew I was WAY too low, and I knew that I failed.

DPE: "That's too bad, because you were flying a beautiful checkride. Until that happened, you were at ATP (Airline Transport Pilot) standards for the whole ride."

That statement kind of surprised me because it was awfully bumpy today and I had to work hard just to fly straight. But, it was going really well. It certainly reminded me of the quote: "That was some of the best flying I've ever seen - Right up to where you got killed." (From Top Gun)

The problem: I was at 3,000 feet. I was OK to descend to 2,700. I was on the Localizer portion of the approach, but my brain was on the ILS and I forgot to stop the descent and wait for the fix.

So, I scheduled a re-check for 9 AM the next morning and went back up with my instructor for another approach. The lesson with my instructor went just fine, and I flew the approach I'd screwed up earlier well within standards.

The next morning, I took another quick hop with the DPE, flew an excellent VOR 18 approach, and now I'm carrying a new Temporary Airman Certificate with the words "Instrument Airplane" on it. Woohoo!

Next up, the Commercial pilot certificate!

Flying in the soup

I wanted to fly today, but when I woke up in the morning the forecast didn't look good:

FM1800 14015KT 2SM TSRA BR BKN007 OVC030CB
FM2100 14011KT 1 1/2SM -TSRA BR OVC005CB
FM0000 12009KT 2SM -TSRA BR OVC004CB

Tangling with thunderstorms is not a good idea in any sort of aircraft. However, after the flying club board meeting which brought me to the airport anyway, I looked at the weather again. The thunderstorms had completely missed, but there were some great instrument conditions remaining:

KMSN 021953Z 13012KT 1 1/2SM -DZ BR OVC006 07/06 A2968 RMK AO2 RAE29DZB29 SLP055 P0000 T00670056
(Translated: 1.5 mile visibility, light drizzle, mist, 600 foot overcast, temp 7C (6.7), dewpoint 6C (5.6), barometric pressure 29.68, rain ended 29 past the hour, drizzle began 29 past the hour)

Low visibility, low overcast, and surface temperatures well above freezing. I checked for pilot reports, and found no pireps for ice below 12,000 feet. The weather briefing confirmed that there would be no danger of icing or thunderstorms, so I filed a flight plan to a nearby intersection and back into Madison. La Crosse was the only nearby alternate that was both legal and feasible, with ceilings up at 1500 feet.

I quickly briefed my instructor and headed for the south ramp to preflight. When I went out onto the ramp, I noticed that the water tower to the west that's about 3 miles away was completely obscured, and the control tower, 1 mile away, was just a silhouette in the mist. The wooded hill on the north end of the field was similarly faint.

After preflight, I looked around again, and noticed that conditions had deteriorated noticeably. The control tower was just a very faint outline. There was a noticeable silence around the airport - Nobody else had come in while I was preflighting.

KMSN 022153Z 12006KT 1SM -DZ BR OVC004 07/07 A2961 RMK AO2 SLP030 P0000 T00720067

We jumped in and fired up. The ATIS (weather and airport information recording) was now listing a 400-foot overcast and 1 mile visibility. After checking the VOR's and setting up the radios, I called for my clearance, and then taxied to runway 21.

On takeoff, I was just looking down to confirm that the airspeed indicator was alive when Joe said "Instrument takeoff." I stayed on the gauges, probably a good idea as the horizon, what there was of it, would be pretty much invisible just after rotation. It was actually easier to transition during the roll than it usually is in the air.

The airplane swam through the murk. Trusty gauges inside, nothing visible outside except for the plane itself and the dull gray goo surrounding us. As we climbed, the gray got brighter and brighter as we approached the top of the clouds, but we never broke out of them.

We elected to fly the ILS 18 approach first because it has the lowest minimums. With the deteriorating conditions, it would be best to start diverting to our alternate as soon as possible if the weather was too low to come back into Madison.

I'll spare you the vectors and skip ahead to the fun part. We're cleared for the approach and handed off to Tower. Tower clears us to land and reports "RVR greater than 6,000 feet." (RVR=Runway Visual Range, basically visibility only more accurate.) The ILS 18 approach requires an RVR of 2400 or more and a ceiling of 200 feet.

I intercepted the glideslope and began to descend. Decision height for this approach is 1060 feet MSL (mean sea level), or 200 feet AGL (above ground level). I watched the altimeter tick down as the grayness outside got darker. Still no sight of anything else. At 1560 I began my callouts. "Five hundred feet to descend." Nothing visible out the front except the cowling. "Four hundred." Still nothing. "Three hundred." Nothing. Are we going to make it in? "Two hundred." About 5 seconds later, I saw a row of strobe lights piercing the gray. "Approach lights in sight." The remainder of the approach lights appeared, appearing to float in the sea of gray. "One hundred." The runway threshold lights appeared, and about the first 2/3 of the runway side lights. "Runway environment in sight."

I floated quite a ways down the runway because I was still at approach speed until I was very close to the runway. I landed and taxied back and copied another clearance down from tower. And once again, off we go into the wild gray yonder, vectored around to the ILS 21 approach this time.

The radio, very quiet up until now, squawked. "Madison information Quebec now current, winds one one zero at eight, visibility three quarters."

KMSN 022221Z 11008KT 3/4SM -DZ BR OVC004 07/07 A2959 RMK AO2 TWR VIS 1 P0001

The ILS 21 has the highest minimums of the three ILS approaches at MSN at 1137 MSL, partially due to the fact that the approach end of 21 is at the highest elevation on the field and the first half of the runway goes downhill.

Again, I intercepted the final approach course and then the glideslope and followed them on down. "Five hundred... Four hundred... Three hundred... Two hundred..." Nothing but gray outside. "One hundred." Are we gonna make it? About 40 feet above DH, the approach lights began to shine through the murk ahead, and the closest parts of the airport slowly, magically appeared out of nowhere right in front of the airplane. Sweet.

I pulled power earlier this time so I wouldn't float, and touched down on the runway. It was still difficult to see much except the runway and the grass immediately off to the side. The control tower was basically invisible, so we reported that we were down and were given clearance to taxi to the ramp.

These conditions were the lowest I've ever flown in, and while it was nice to have an instructor aboard, I really didn't need him. I think it's about time I get this rating!

"Instrument flying is an unnatural act, probably punishable by God." --Gordon Baxter, pilot

Twinkie Time in the Pacific Northwest

I'm having an excellent year so far - A flying adventure every month! In January, it was taking the G1000-equipped 182 to Key West. In February it was flying Piper Cubs on skis at Cadillac, MI.

Well, March was almost over, and it was such a nice day - My first breath of the fresh Oregon air this morning was a better wake-up than any caffeine-laden substance could possibly muster. I saw a Cessna in the pattern of some field near Forest Grove. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and I decided that I simply had to fly today!

After making some calls, I found a flight school at Hillsboro that had plenty of openings on their schedule, and a selection of airplanes: 152, 172, Arrow, and Twin Comanche. It took me about a microsecond to decide on the Twinkie. I was going to have to have a CFI along anyway even if I took a single, and I've always loved the Twin Comanche. I have a thing for efficient airplanes.

N7652Y is an "A model" PA-30, with four seats and only two side windows on each side. It looked to be well cared for, with a nice interior, a pair of KX-155 digital flip-flop radios, and some speed mods: Flap and aileron gap seals and LoPresti cowls. Several other modernizations were present as well.



The insurance requirements for the Twinkie didn't allow for any sort of real training (No touch and goes, no engine cuts, etc.) but that was OK with me as I just wanted to see the area by air and take some pictures. After preflight and some seat time to find all of the switches and ask the CFI about emergency gear extension, we fired up (Starting two engines is cool) and taxied to runway 2. After a quick takeoff briefing, I added full power. (A handful of throttles is cool too!)

Now, I've been very impressed with the Pacific northwest in my limited experience with it (a week at Lake Chelan in WA in 04, a brief trip to Spokane in Aug 05, and a couple days in Oregon last week), but nothing prepared me for the view shortly after takeoff. I was instantly glad I rented the twin (with its sloping nose) so I could fully appreciate the view...




...of Mount Saint Helens appearing from behind the nearby ridge. Only 600 feet off the ground and I was already turning the controls back to the CFI to grab my camera!

We stayed just outside the West edge of Portland's class C airspace and began following the Columbia River downstream. I climbed up to 8500 to get out of the bumps and stay above the few white puffies. Since this was a sightseeing flight, I relied on pure pilotage. The first good-sized city past Portland was Kelso, WA:



"Ocian in view! O! The joy!" --William Clark, November 7, 1805



We continued down the Columbia River towards the Pacific, just as Lewis and Clark did just over two hundred years earlier, several thousand feet below, and probably just a tad slower than the 175 knots that I was getting. While I share their spirit for exploration, I'm certainly glad that I have modern tools to do so! Lewis and Clark never got to see waves crashing quite like this:



The clouds were getting a bit thicker near the shoreline, but I could see that there weren't any shadows out over the water, so I continued about three miles out over the water before turning southbound and descending to 4500. I paralleled the shoreline for a ways, and then turned to fly up the Tillamook Valley:



That looks like a little slice of heaven to me! I will have to visit there someday. Unfortunately, it also signaled that we were nearing the end of the trip. Another left turn and we were headed directly back to Hillsboro, passing over mountains, a couple of lakes, and finally back to relatively flat ground near the cities. Pilotage was a lot more difficult in the mountains on this last leg, there's not a whole lot of room between the fuselage and the left engine nacelle to spot the tiny rivers.

The plane was actually pretty easy to land. I've heard lots of stories about it, and it's enough of a problem that there is a "small nosewheel" mod to make it less nose-heavy on landing, but I didn't have any problems.

And that was my flying adventure of the month for March... I can't wait to see what comes next!

Yellow airplanes on skis

One month to the day after flying a brand new G1000-equipped 182 down to Key West, I went to the opposite extreme: I flew our club 182 to blustery northern Michigan and flew an old Piper J-3 Cub, without any electrical system at all, on skis!




http://www.avweb.com/news/columns/182671-1.html

Rick Durden has been having an annual ski-plane gathering for about 10 years now, and I was lucky enough to be invited this year. Rick also was kind enough to let me invite my CFII along for the trip, which allowed me to get some good instrument work in on the way there and back and also gave my CFII a chance to do some ski-flying. We flew the 182 up to KCAD, where Northwoods Aviation has a Cub and a Super Cub on skis for rent at very reasonable prices ($90/hr for dual). I arrived on Saturday just in time to see the Super Cub take off from a flat snowy area next to the approach end of runway 25. I went inside to meet everybody and found that this is exactly the type of place you'd expect to be called "Northwoods Aviation," a great place for Hangar Talk:



Northwoods is a father-son operation. They have several J-3 and PA-18 Cubs, a 170, a 180, and there are lots of other neat airplanes parked in the hangar next door where I kept the 182. Ercoupe, amphibious Maule, Tri-Pacer, Viking, and two of these (I forgot what they are... Had to ask!) For the most part, all of the planes were in amazingly good condition as well, some impressive specimens:



The Super Cub was being kept busy, and Derek, the son part of the operation who is a CFI and A&P, asked if I'd like to go flying in the Cub. After one-third of a nanosecond, I enthusiastically said yes and we pulled it out of the hangar. The Cub was on "wheel penetration" skis, which retract with a manual hydraulic pump to let the wheels down far enough to land on a runway or to be easily rolled out of the hangar.

The next trick was getting in. You can't step on the gear strut or the wing strut, and at 6'4" these planes are just a bit small for me! Regardless of your height, about the only way to get in is to sit on the bottom of the door frame and grab one of the tubes in the cockpit and slide yourself into the seat.



After getting in, I took a look around the cockpit to get familiar with it. There's not much to this process! The panel has only an airspeed indicator, non-sensitive altimeter, magnetic compass, tachometer, and oil temp and pressure gauges, and an inclinometer which didn't appear to work very well. There are no switches because there's no electrical system. The only other things on the panel itself are the primer, mixture control, and a cabin heat knob. There was a carb heat control on one wall, the mag switch on the left wing root, and clear tube fuel gauges on both wing roots. The throttle is at the bottom of the left window.



Another first for me: Hand-propping. Well, I didn't do it, but I'd never actually flown a plane that needed it. Derek was a pro at it though - He pulled the prop through a couple of times, set the throttle, had me turn on the mags and pull the primer out, and with a swift motion of his arm the engine fired right up. He slid into the seat behind me, I pumped the skis down, and I taxied out onto the snow-covered field.

One oddity on skis is that you have no brakes, so your runup must be done in motion. You also use soft-field technique as it's quite difficult to get the plane moving again if it's stopped in snow. So, I did a quick mag check at about 1500 RPM while taxiing downwind, we did a quick takeoff briefing on the roll (on the slide?) and I turned into the wind and added power.

The takeoff is pretty easy - After adding power, push forward to get the tail off the ground, then a couple of seconds later pull back to take off. I never thought a 90hp engine could lift me off the ground, but it worked! The climb rate was rather anemic but it didn't matter - I was flying the venerable J-3 Cub!



We headed straight out toward a large lake, Lake Mitchell. Low and slow indeed, only 4-500 AGL and then back down a little to check out the lake from the air. We picked a landing spot clear of any slush or other signs of moisture and without any drifts across the path and then flew a pattern around it for a touch-and-go. The first landing on any ice-covered lake is a touch and go in case of thin ice. After takeoff, we flew a pattern again, looking at the tracks on downwind to make sure they didn't darken up from water coming through cracks in the ice. They looked good, so we aimed for the same spot and landed. (Watered? Snowed? haha)

We did a third landing toward the other end of Lake Mitchell and after takeoff saw some snowmobiles racing downwind. We smoked 'em. :D (Yes, we kept our 500 foot separation.) It was kind of a reminder that low and slow still isn't THAT slow. We headed towards Pleasant Lake, just a mile or two north, for a couple more touch and goes. Pleasant Lake is much smaller, and with the slow climb rate of the Cub we had to make the "go" fairly quick and follow low terrain to stay safe. Finally, we headed back to KCAD.

Derek saw my CFII out on the ramp with my camera, so we did a low pass over runway 18-36 before making a left-hand pattern to the landing area. We landed and called it a day. We headed to McGuire's Resort to join everyone else for an excellent dinner buffet (prime rib and crab legs anyone?) and a gathering in Rick's room afterwards. It was great to meet a bunch of pilots and listen to their stories.

Sunday morning, we had an excellent breakfast and headed back over to the airport. Conditions were MVFR with lake effect snow, but when low and slow that's not such a big deal, especially when you're never more than about 5 miles from the field. It also cleared up throughout the day.

Around lunchtime, I still hadn't flown again and others were making plans for lunch. I still wanted to fly the Super Cub, and it seemed like this would be my last chance. Derek said we could go flying and he'd drop me off at the restaurant where everyone else was going when we were done.

We hopped into the Super Cub, which was equipped with wheel replacement skis - They mount right onto the axles where the wheels would be if they were still there. The Super Cub has several things the Cub doesn't: An electrical system (and starter), wing flaps, 150hp engine, sensitive altimeter, slightly wider cabin, and probably a couple of other things I'm forgetting. Unfortunately, the wing flap lever was all the way up next to my leg when I put in full flaps and that seemed to prevent any significant leftward movement of the stick, so I stuck to two notches of flaps for the landings.

Again, we taxied out and took off from the same area. With the extra ponies up front, the Super Cub really jumps off the ground! Normally when I think of a 150-hp airplane, I think "Warrior that hasn't been upgraded" and I certainly don't think about good performance. However, the Super Cub climbed briskly in the cold air. We headed a couple miles south to Lake Cadillac. After a couple of landings there, I had Derek take the controls while I took some pictures.





We did a couple of landings on Lake Mitchell as well, and I tried to get a photo of our tracks.



Finally, we landed on Lake Mitchell near the restaurant where the others were. I'd thought Derek was going to drive me there, but I ended up getting the coolest $100 hamburger ever instead!



Watching the Super Cub take off was amazing - Derek got it moving, taxied it further out onto the lake, and added power. It only took about 50 feet for the plane to lift off! I started heading for the restaurant, but I wish I'd had my camera out instead, as Derek came back for a nice low pass before swooping back up into the air - Would have made a great picture, but I couldn't get my camera turned on fast enough!

As if all the Cub flying wasn't enough, I got 8.4 hours of good IFR time in the 182 on the way there and back. My CFII used all five of his instrument covers and two post-it notes in the process! :hairraisi However, I still managed to hold altitude and course well within parameters. His last trick was to fail Nav1 on me on the ILS 21 back into MSN just shy of the FAF, requiring a very quick re-tune/identify on Nav2 to track the localizer instead. The checkride should be very soon, hopefully in March.