Dan Johnson
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Aug 15, 2007
- Messages
- 156
- Reaction score
- 5
I've had my Cub almost two months now and have put about twenty hours on the tach.
I've enjoyed flying it immensely. It has been very difficult coming to terms with the lack of climb performance on the A65. You'd think having spent hundreds of hours behind them in the past, the readjustment would be quick. Not so. With summer well on its way here in Houston, things are only going to get worse. The good news? I'm becoming attuned to the small things again. I used to point out to students how, without the ball centered, the airplane doesn't climb very well. I would then demonstrate that if the nose was raised too high, the engine noise would change, with the same effect on rate of climb. It took about seventeen hours, but my awareness of those details has returned just recently, even though I had been looking for them from day one.
More good news? The Cub's low performance really forces one to commit to terrain avoidance well in advance. There is simply no ability to do much else. Again, I knew this before, but it is nice to become slowly and acutely aware of it again after all these years.
Now I'd like to discuss an area not many of us pilots are willing to admit to:
Fear.
"I've never been afraid in an airplane!" you say. Well, neither have I, except twice. The first time I penetrated a thunderstorm, and the occasion my First Officer lost consciousness in flight. Both these separate events happened years ago, so I have to ask myself - am I afraid of this airplane? The answer is no. Anxiety would be a much better choice of words. It took a good eleven hours before I was able to takeoff and completely enjoy myself. Before then I was convinced the Continental was going to quit at any moment, convinced, I was going to botch a landing and bend my precious airplane.
Why did I feel this way, after hundreds of hours in fifteen different taildraggers, many of them teaching ham-fisted students?
The answer is difficult, but here's my take.
Previous experience doesn't count for much. (Read that "shit".)
For the past ten years I've been flying airplanes with yaw dampers, training wheels and high wing loading. That's thousands of hours of flight without using my feet for anything but braking, taxiing and engine failure. Instead of getting a thorough checkout, I just flew it home. "It's time to turn in my pilot's license if I can't fly a Cub!" Fortunately, the Cub is as she's always been, the best trainer on the planet. Like the Aeronca Champ I learned tailwheel flying in, it survived my ham-fisted attempts to break her.
So, what did this 7000 plus hour pilot learn? (Again?)
The airplane only cares about recency of experience. You could have been an amazing stick the last time you flew the airplane but that was then and this is now. Pay attention.
When all the airplanes you've been flying are flown onto the ground, learning again how to bleed off that last bit of energy, how much of it is left and exactly how high above the ground are you takes a lot of practice.
Every takeoff and landing are different. Pay attention.
Use the anxiety to your advantage. Concerned the engine is going to quit? Good!
The flat spots or plateaus we sometimes experience, when everything in the learning process is difficult and we goal-oriented pilots are uncomfortable with our lack of ability to make it all look perfect, is actually our friend. This "dark side of learning" * is a very productive place to spend some time in. Uncomfortable? Good! Find out why. Not performing perfectly? Good! Make those mistakes, probe and test your assumptions - see what works and what doesn't. Bring a beginner's mind to the process. The Cub doesn't care how many type ratings you have or how many countries you've flown to. Don't be in a big hurry to get comfortableor in other words: relaxed and complacent - an Aviator who's seen it all before. Have you? Are you sure?
I love my airplane more than I ever did before, what an amazing classroom it is to learn about myself, and as as Mr. Bach says; who I am when I fly.
*With thanks to Michael M. Charles for making me aware of the dark side.
I've enjoyed flying it immensely. It has been very difficult coming to terms with the lack of climb performance on the A65. You'd think having spent hundreds of hours behind them in the past, the readjustment would be quick. Not so. With summer well on its way here in Houston, things are only going to get worse. The good news? I'm becoming attuned to the small things again. I used to point out to students how, without the ball centered, the airplane doesn't climb very well. I would then demonstrate that if the nose was raised too high, the engine noise would change, with the same effect on rate of climb. It took about seventeen hours, but my awareness of those details has returned just recently, even though I had been looking for them from day one.
More good news? The Cub's low performance really forces one to commit to terrain avoidance well in advance. There is simply no ability to do much else. Again, I knew this before, but it is nice to become slowly and acutely aware of it again after all these years.
Now I'd like to discuss an area not many of us pilots are willing to admit to:
Fear.
"I've never been afraid in an airplane!" you say. Well, neither have I, except twice. The first time I penetrated a thunderstorm, and the occasion my First Officer lost consciousness in flight. Both these separate events happened years ago, so I have to ask myself - am I afraid of this airplane? The answer is no. Anxiety would be a much better choice of words. It took a good eleven hours before I was able to takeoff and completely enjoy myself. Before then I was convinced the Continental was going to quit at any moment, convinced, I was going to botch a landing and bend my precious airplane.
Why did I feel this way, after hundreds of hours in fifteen different taildraggers, many of them teaching ham-fisted students?
The answer is difficult, but here's my take.
Previous experience doesn't count for much. (Read that "shit".)
For the past ten years I've been flying airplanes with yaw dampers, training wheels and high wing loading. That's thousands of hours of flight without using my feet for anything but braking, taxiing and engine failure. Instead of getting a thorough checkout, I just flew it home. "It's time to turn in my pilot's license if I can't fly a Cub!" Fortunately, the Cub is as she's always been, the best trainer on the planet. Like the Aeronca Champ I learned tailwheel flying in, it survived my ham-fisted attempts to break her.
So, what did this 7000 plus hour pilot learn? (Again?)
The airplane only cares about recency of experience. You could have been an amazing stick the last time you flew the airplane but that was then and this is now. Pay attention.
When all the airplanes you've been flying are flown onto the ground, learning again how to bleed off that last bit of energy, how much of it is left and exactly how high above the ground are you takes a lot of practice.
Every takeoff and landing are different. Pay attention.
Use the anxiety to your advantage. Concerned the engine is going to quit? Good!
The flat spots or plateaus we sometimes experience, when everything in the learning process is difficult and we goal-oriented pilots are uncomfortable with our lack of ability to make it all look perfect, is actually our friend. This "dark side of learning" * is a very productive place to spend some time in. Uncomfortable? Good! Find out why. Not performing perfectly? Good! Make those mistakes, probe and test your assumptions - see what works and what doesn't. Bring a beginner's mind to the process. The Cub doesn't care how many type ratings you have or how many countries you've flown to. Don't be in a big hurry to get comfortableor in other words: relaxed and complacent - an Aviator who's seen it all before. Have you? Are you sure?
I love my airplane more than I ever did before, what an amazing classroom it is to learn about myself, and as as Mr. Bach says; who I am when I fly.
*With thanks to Michael M. Charles for making me aware of the dark side.
