Just the Little Things
It was annual time again, even though we had put it of as long as we could. The annual was due in August, which meant we could legally fly the airplane down to Galveston and drop it off as late as August 31st. But we knew if we did that, we wouldn’t have the airplane back in time to fly to my wife’s family reunion on September 7th. I had initially planed to take the airplane down at the first of August, but then there came an American Yankee Association (Grumman owners club) fly-in at Stephenville I wanted to attend on the 4th. We didn’t get there, because Connie felt bad that morning; and I couldn’t politically justify leaving a sick wife at home to go flying up into north Texas for lunch. So, wanting to get the airplane down to Galveston the next day, I called my buddy Jim and asked him if he would be free to pick me up in his Cessna 120 after I dropped my airplane off. He thought he would be and we agreed to meet at the airport about two p.m.
Not only would that give me a ride back but it would give us both a chance to fly some formation.
As soon as I got off the phone with him and saw my wife’s hang-dog face, I knew she had wanted to drive down to Galveston instead of having me save her the trouble. After wading through her protests over me calling Jim back, I did and explained the situation. He said he might show up anyway. It was supposed to be a nice Sunday afternoon, and he might take his wife, Dee, flying. So, I left the conversation not sure if I would see him or not.
The next day, I got out to the airport fifteen minutes later than planned to find Jim and Dee in his Cessna 120 running touch and go’s in the pattern. I pulled in behind my Cheetah’s covered tiedown (We call it the “carport”.), pulled my gear out of the truck, and began pre-flighting my plane. After completing the latter, I pulled the airplane forward about ten feet to put some distance between it and my truck and had hopped into the plane’s left seat when Jim’s airplane taxied down in front of me, spun around, and stopped. Hopping out, Jim came over to the side of my airplane; and we briefed the takeoff and the rendezvous and general conduct of the formation flight down to Galveston. But it’s always in “the doing” where you find out what you left out of the brief. We were about to find out.
Jim taxied out toward the wind-favoring runway 32 as I started the Cheetah up. Pushing the throttle up, I tested the brakes and then let her lope across the grass to spin right onto the asphalt taxiway while I listened to the airport’s automated weather robot. Up onto the ramp, the Cheetah and I moved, spinning right to follow Jim toward three-two’s southern end, watching as his airplane’s tail swung like a pendulum, back and forth so the taildragger pilot could see. There were two entrances to the runway, one at the far end and one about twenty yards up, and Jim stopped at the southernmost one. Spinning my airplane around so I was more aligned with the wind and could see the runway, I ran through the airplane’s takeoff checklist. Once I was complete, I looked back and gave Jim a “thumb’s up”; he taxied out onto the runway, taking the windward side as he called for a flight of two taking the runway. I taxied toward him as I radioed: “Shouldn’t you be on the downwind side?”
“Downwind side? OK!” he answered. The nose of his airplane swung left as I crossed behind him and aligned myself with the runway centerline but on the right side of it. I was stopped about twenty or thirty feet behind him.
“Power,” I heard over the radios. Feet on the brakes, I pushed my throttle toward the firewall.
“Brake release, NOW!” he said.
While I had thought I was going wait two seconds before hitting the power, my military instincts took over at the command. Feet off the brakes and full power! The Cessna stopped moving away from me; and, amazingly, we rotated at about the same time; the Cheetah lifted off and accelerated toward the Cessna like a banshee on the run! I pulled the power back to stop my forward movement and glanced at the airspeed indicator to see where I was in relation to stall. The Cheetah seemed to be hovering solidly behind the Cessna as the airspeed indicator said 80 miles per hour. I knew I could jump aboard Jim's wing anytime I wanted but held back because we had briefed the rendezvous would occur in the left turn Jim would make once he had gained some altitude. Banking left, I crossed to his inside and stayed there, letting him open on me a bit before bringing the power in and crossing the circle to meet with him. I pulled aboard a little aft on his left side. He was climbing at 80 mph and the huge power differential that had existed at liftoff had disappeared. I was having no trouble hanging on but simply didn’t have as much power to play with as I had thought I would.
Feeling pretty rusty at formation flying and not having more than a few hours of formation time in the Cheetah, I stayed out about thirty feet flailing at the controls as I tried to hold my position. One of the problems with flying dissimilar types is trying to figure out the “gouges” of what is “proper position”, i.e., what lines up with what on his airplane when you’re in place. I had all I could do to hold any kind of decent position much less think much about that, so I didn’t. After only a few minutes looking right, I called and told him I was crossing under, added power, banked slightly right, and slid under and slightly behind his airplane to get on his other side. Adding a little more power, I slid up and in and tried to establish what I thought was the 45 degree line and at least hold the bottom of his airplane on the horizon.
Quickly, I loosened the throttle friction so it was gone and then told myself to relax, trying to get myself to smooth out. Of course, that’s when I thought about how it would help if I had some kind of gouge, but I wasn’t sure how to establish that in flight. I mean, I did just pick something, but whether that was ahead (acute) or behind (sucked) on the 45 degree bearing line was beyond me. Suffice it to say that it was enough for now for me to just hold position. I was sweating up a storm.
“Cheetah flight, switch up Galveston tower,” Jim said over the radios.
I clicked the mike twice to let him know I heard, slid my airplane away from his a little to take less risk as I switched radio frequencies, and then slid my airplane back into position once I was done.
“Two’s up,” I said over the radio.
Jim called Galveston tower, announcing us as “Cheetah Flight”. We were still about ten miles out as they cleared us to report on a left downwind for runway 17. Then, I saw Jim signaling but couldn’t make out what he wanted me to do. He seemed to be telling me to press ahead.
“How about you taking the lead?” the radios crackled.
I nodded and gave him the Navy signal for “I’ve got the lead”. Whether he understood that or not, his airplane slid backward to take a position back at my seven o’clock. He stayed there for a few minutes and then slid forward and up on my right wing.
Once he caught up, I pulled the power back slightly and began a slow descent as we approached the northern shoreline of Galveston Bay. I glanced back over my right shoulder and he was there, pressed in tight. Obviously, he was counting on my being a smooth lead. I was duty-bound to accommodate him.
I edged our speed up a little, but Jim was hanging in just fine, so it didn’t seem to be a problem. As we approached the runway, I did a gentle level-off at one thousand feet and a smooth right turn to put us on a left downwind. Calling the tower, I reported our position and gave them my N-number as the airplane that was going to land. On his radio, Jim piped in with his N-number and told them he’d do a low approach followed by a return for a landing. The tower cleared me to land and him for the approach, and we pressed down the pattern to do both.
Of course, this is when I realized we hadn’t briefed this part of the flight well enough. I decided that the most important thing to do was fly a smooth approach, so instead of flying the FAA-condoned rectangular pattern, I flew a curving, descending approach like the Navy does, figuring it would be an easier maneuver for Jim to hang on through. We rolled onto final and I kept my speed up, and Jim stayed with me until I was descending through about two hundred feet and then broke it off. As I heard him call it, I pulled my power back and began to slow to my normal landing speed. I touched down smoothly on 17, hitting the brakes moderately to turn off at the upcoming taxiway. Sure enough, tower called for me to turn off there and to switch to Ground when I was clear.
From there, I taxied down the ramp to Bill Wynn’s hangar, the place where the Cheetah would stay for her annual. After I shut the airplane down and as I was putting up my headset, Jim and Dee taxied up in the 120 and Jim gave an inquisitive “thumbs up”, in other words, he wanted to know if I was okay. I nodded and gave a thumbs-up. He nodded, waved good-bye, and taxied out toward the runway again to take off.
We didn’t debrief until two days later. By that time, I had thought of a couple of other things we could have done better…things we didn’t talk about at the time. Luckily, those things turned out to be little things, but only because they didn't swell into the BIG things caused by something unanticipated. I've been flying long enough to know that it’s paying attention to the little things that will make me a more proficient pilot and, if I'm lucky, keep me alive.
Not only would that give me a ride back but it would give us both a chance to fly some formation.
As soon as I got off the phone with him and saw my wife’s hang-dog face, I knew she had wanted to drive down to Galveston instead of having me save her the trouble. After wading through her protests over me calling Jim back, I did and explained the situation. He said he might show up anyway. It was supposed to be a nice Sunday afternoon, and he might take his wife, Dee, flying. So, I left the conversation not sure if I would see him or not.
The next day, I got out to the airport fifteen minutes later than planned to find Jim and Dee in his Cessna 120 running touch and go’s in the pattern. I pulled in behind my Cheetah’s covered tiedown (We call it the “carport”.), pulled my gear out of the truck, and began pre-flighting my plane. After completing the latter, I pulled the airplane forward about ten feet to put some distance between it and my truck and had hopped into the plane’s left seat when Jim’s airplane taxied down in front of me, spun around, and stopped. Hopping out, Jim came over to the side of my airplane; and we briefed the takeoff and the rendezvous and general conduct of the formation flight down to Galveston. But it’s always in “the doing” where you find out what you left out of the brief. We were about to find out.
Jim taxied out toward the wind-favoring runway 32 as I started the Cheetah up. Pushing the throttle up, I tested the brakes and then let her lope across the grass to spin right onto the asphalt taxiway while I listened to the airport’s automated weather robot. Up onto the ramp, the Cheetah and I moved, spinning right to follow Jim toward three-two’s southern end, watching as his airplane’s tail swung like a pendulum, back and forth so the taildragger pilot could see. There were two entrances to the runway, one at the far end and one about twenty yards up, and Jim stopped at the southernmost one. Spinning my airplane around so I was more aligned with the wind and could see the runway, I ran through the airplane’s takeoff checklist. Once I was complete, I looked back and gave Jim a “thumb’s up”; he taxied out onto the runway, taking the windward side as he called for a flight of two taking the runway. I taxied toward him as I radioed: “Shouldn’t you be on the downwind side?”
“Downwind side? OK!” he answered. The nose of his airplane swung left as I crossed behind him and aligned myself with the runway centerline but on the right side of it. I was stopped about twenty or thirty feet behind him.
“Power,” I heard over the radios. Feet on the brakes, I pushed my throttle toward the firewall.
“Brake release, NOW!” he said.
While I had thought I was going wait two seconds before hitting the power, my military instincts took over at the command. Feet off the brakes and full power! The Cessna stopped moving away from me; and, amazingly, we rotated at about the same time; the Cheetah lifted off and accelerated toward the Cessna like a banshee on the run! I pulled the power back to stop my forward movement and glanced at the airspeed indicator to see where I was in relation to stall. The Cheetah seemed to be hovering solidly behind the Cessna as the airspeed indicator said 80 miles per hour. I knew I could jump aboard Jim's wing anytime I wanted but held back because we had briefed the rendezvous would occur in the left turn Jim would make once he had gained some altitude. Banking left, I crossed to his inside and stayed there, letting him open on me a bit before bringing the power in and crossing the circle to meet with him. I pulled aboard a little aft on his left side. He was climbing at 80 mph and the huge power differential that had existed at liftoff had disappeared. I was having no trouble hanging on but simply didn’t have as much power to play with as I had thought I would.
Feeling pretty rusty at formation flying and not having more than a few hours of formation time in the Cheetah, I stayed out about thirty feet flailing at the controls as I tried to hold my position. One of the problems with flying dissimilar types is trying to figure out the “gouges” of what is “proper position”, i.e., what lines up with what on his airplane when you’re in place. I had all I could do to hold any kind of decent position much less think much about that, so I didn’t. After only a few minutes looking right, I called and told him I was crossing under, added power, banked slightly right, and slid under and slightly behind his airplane to get on his other side. Adding a little more power, I slid up and in and tried to establish what I thought was the 45 degree line and at least hold the bottom of his airplane on the horizon.
Quickly, I loosened the throttle friction so it was gone and then told myself to relax, trying to get myself to smooth out. Of course, that’s when I thought about how it would help if I had some kind of gouge, but I wasn’t sure how to establish that in flight. I mean, I did just pick something, but whether that was ahead (acute) or behind (sucked) on the 45 degree bearing line was beyond me. Suffice it to say that it was enough for now for me to just hold position. I was sweating up a storm.
“Cheetah flight, switch up Galveston tower,” Jim said over the radios.
I clicked the mike twice to let him know I heard, slid my airplane away from his a little to take less risk as I switched radio frequencies, and then slid my airplane back into position once I was done.
“Two’s up,” I said over the radio.
Jim called Galveston tower, announcing us as “Cheetah Flight”. We were still about ten miles out as they cleared us to report on a left downwind for runway 17. Then, I saw Jim signaling but couldn’t make out what he wanted me to do. He seemed to be telling me to press ahead.
“How about you taking the lead?” the radios crackled.
I nodded and gave him the Navy signal for “I’ve got the lead”. Whether he understood that or not, his airplane slid backward to take a position back at my seven o’clock. He stayed there for a few minutes and then slid forward and up on my right wing.
Once he caught up, I pulled the power back slightly and began a slow descent as we approached the northern shoreline of Galveston Bay. I glanced back over my right shoulder and he was there, pressed in tight. Obviously, he was counting on my being a smooth lead. I was duty-bound to accommodate him.
I edged our speed up a little, but Jim was hanging in just fine, so it didn’t seem to be a problem. As we approached the runway, I did a gentle level-off at one thousand feet and a smooth right turn to put us on a left downwind. Calling the tower, I reported our position and gave them my N-number as the airplane that was going to land. On his radio, Jim piped in with his N-number and told them he’d do a low approach followed by a return for a landing. The tower cleared me to land and him for the approach, and we pressed down the pattern to do both.
Of course, this is when I realized we hadn’t briefed this part of the flight well enough. I decided that the most important thing to do was fly a smooth approach, so instead of flying the FAA-condoned rectangular pattern, I flew a curving, descending approach like the Navy does, figuring it would be an easier maneuver for Jim to hang on through. We rolled onto final and I kept my speed up, and Jim stayed with me until I was descending through about two hundred feet and then broke it off. As I heard him call it, I pulled my power back and began to slow to my normal landing speed. I touched down smoothly on 17, hitting the brakes moderately to turn off at the upcoming taxiway. Sure enough, tower called for me to turn off there and to switch to Ground when I was clear.
From there, I taxied down the ramp to Bill Wynn’s hangar, the place where the Cheetah would stay for her annual. After I shut the airplane down and as I was putting up my headset, Jim and Dee taxied up in the 120 and Jim gave an inquisitive “thumbs up”, in other words, he wanted to know if I was okay. I nodded and gave a thumbs-up. He nodded, waved good-bye, and taxied out toward the runway again to take off.
We didn’t debrief until two days later. By that time, I had thought of a couple of other things we could have done better…things we didn’t talk about at the time. Luckily, those things turned out to be little things, but only because they didn't swell into the BIG things caused by something unanticipated. I've been flying long enough to know that it’s paying attention to the little things that will make me a more proficient pilot and, if I'm lucky, keep me alive.
posted by Andy Foster at 6:55 PM
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