The Fateful Call

Twenty years ago today, I bought an airplane. 

The first picture I ever captured of N21481, taken at Three Rivers, Dr. Haines Municipal Airport (KHAI) on 13 March 2004, the day after I flew her home from Guthrie, OK.

My first official act as an aircraft owner was cold calling Dad. "Hi Dad! I'm in Oklahoma and I just bought an airplane." It was a cocky way to blindside him with new information, but I had just conquered Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs as an early 30-something and needed to crow about it. After all, I was now the proud master of a "private aircraft", a beautiful, gleaming, (twenty-six year old) Piper Warrior II, a PA-28-161. (Or, to decode Piper's designation, Piper Aircraft design #28, 160 horsepower, semi-tapered wing.) Compared to the tired, 100 horsepower, 2-seat Cessna I did my training in, this airplane was a veritable beast and it had a great paintjob, too.

Less ostentatious, my first experience as a new aircraft owner was immersion into the glamorous world of rural airport courtesy cars. While Westchester County Airport in metropolitan New York has fancy Mercedes loaner cars, that is definitely not the case out in the sticks. In Guthrie, OK, I was privileged to helm the world's shakiest Ford Taurus from the airport to the local Best Western. "Don't drive it any farther than you want to walk," advised FBO owner Glen Crabtree. He was not kidding. Maintaining that wobbly sedan along a true course was a recipe for repetitive stress injury. But in the end, it served the need, the price was right, and I was grateful that I did not need to hoof it between airport and hotel.

Did you know that Guthrie was the original state capital of Oklahoma? Every local I encountered  boasted of that glorious sliver of time from 1907 to 1910, though little was mentioned about anything of note happening since. Guthrie's replacement as capital by Oklahoma City in a 1910 vote was surely a boon to elementary students everywhere facing that dreaded state capitals quiz.

My favorite new airplane accessory was a warped mutant of a tow bar, slightly bent with opposite ends twisted out of coplanarity and the prongs reattached by welds resembling the inflamed finger joints of an arthritic. It was a veteran tow bar. A survivor. (Barely.) Prior owner Bill was reticent to admit owning that deviant thing, but it served its purpose for ground handling during stops on the long flight home. After my first solo Warrior landing in Bolivar, MO (M17), I used it to pull the Warrior toward the fuel pump and nearly ran the left wingtip into a chain link fence. It was evidence that high wing pilots who buy low wing airplanes need to process their surroundings in a different way.

"Don't tell anyone I gave you that tow bar!" Bill admonished out of embarrassment. Where I was going, no one had ever heard of him and his secret shame was safe. Until now, I suppose. Surely we are beyond the statute of limitations for embarrassing tow bars. I bought a new one sometime in 2004, but kept Bill's as a trophy of sorts.

N21481's primitive instrument panel with a "high tech" handheld GPS velcroed to the yoke, 01 July 2004. Five of the instruments in this photo are now desk ornaments, but I still have that headset.

When I received the keys from Bill, they were accompanied by a tarnished brass disk embossed with "21481" and a hole punched through it for attachment to a keyring. It obviously predated Bill's ownership of the airplane and I wondered if it was a carryover from the Warrior's time on a flight line when keys to the entire training fleet would have hung together on a pegboard. Decades later, that round tag is still on my keyring.

Year one of ownership was enriched with an abundance of "learning opportunities". These began with the first time I engaged the Warrior's starter as owner. A rapidly diminishing groan came from the Warrior’s snout and the prop lurched through a half-hearted partial arc before stopping. The lessons? Too long with the master switch left on during a pre-purchase inspection can really kill a battery. Also, weak batteries cannot start airplanes. Quinn from Crabtree Aviation helped me jump start the plane, which I ran for a time to restore some oomph to the battery before shutting down at Guthrie's fuel pump. I had never personally fueled an airplane previously because the pumps in Three Rivers, MI (KHAI) were full serve only. It was a morning of many firsts. 

When I was ready to make my escape from balmy Guthrie for much colder Three Rivers, I was relieved that the starter turned the engine over without struggling. With March being one of those "you never know what you're going to get" months in the wintry north, I found myself creeping forward, state to state, VFR only, and hypervigilant of weather conditions. These were days before the proliferation of AWOS/ASOS stations and the advent of ADS-B (FIS-B) weather displayed on a tablet in the cockpit. (A tablet? What's that?) It was only my second time using GPS in an airplane, with credit to Kristy for realizing that it would be a useful cross country navigation tool before the thought occurred to me. That aerial journey home was six times longer than my longest flight to date and was made at the controls of an airplane in which I only had an hour in type. Given my minimal experience at the time, I am not sure if this made me intrepid or stupid beyond the actual fact of a successful outcome.

07 April 2004: Kristy got her first ride in our airplane. Photo by Arjo from Dave's Decathlon.

Knowing how to jump start the plane was a valuable skill, especially the first time Kristy and I flew to Dalton Airport (3DA) in Flushing, MI to visit my in-laws. Giddy to show off my beautiful airplane, I skimmed too quickly through the shut down checklist and left the master switch on over lunch. This reinforced the lesson about weak batteries being unable to start airplanes, but now I was well versed in jump starting the Warrior. Because of this incident, Penny suggested naming the plane "Charger", but the 1970s Chrysler OEM alternator in the plane was as close as I wanted to associate with the Dodge brand. (Appropriately enough, I later learned that the alternator was definitely a bit "dodgy".)

Warrior 481 at Dalton Airport with Terry about to get his first flight, 24 April 2004, photo by Kristy?

Leaving the master switch on is one of those actions accompanied by such mortifying embarrassment that it only happens once. Another comparable example from the "lack of attention to detail" bucket is starting an airplane and attempting to taxi out of a parking spot while still chocked, something that I have also done exactly once. Because it happened on a crowded ramp in front of a popular fly-in restaurant in St Mary's, PA (KOYM), I was guaranteed long lasting shame as a memory aid. Once is enough.

Kristy with Warrior 481 before embarking on our grand adventure to Florida in 2005.

On another flight to Dalton, we (i.e., Kristy) learned empirically that opening a tube of hand lotion at 5,500 feet can result in rapid self-dispensing. Because good science requires reproducibility, we (i.e., Kristy) demonstrated the same phenomenon in 2017 over the Smoky Mountains with a dip tube style water bottle. At least water eventually evaporates. Hand lotion is a messier problem.

Parked in front of my first hangar in South Haven, 05 April 2004. Nose strut inflation is a little low.

When I first brought the airplane home to her new hangar at the South Haven Area Regional Airport (0D1/KLWA), I was immediately faced with a geometric challenge. I needed to push an airplane with a 35 foot wingspan through an opening that was 40 feet wide. While the numbers certainly indicate that the goal was achievable, perspective can be a funny thing and those wingtips seemed awfully close to the sides of the hangar as I anxiously pushed the airplane inside with Bill's misshapen tow bar. 

Out darn (oil) spot! Soiled hangar floor visible at the South Haven Airport, 25 September 2004.

During that first year of ownership, my mentor Dave encouraged me to take control of my own maintenance and worked with me to accomplish my first oil change. Unlike the Lycoming O-360 in his Super Decathlon, the Warrior's oil pan did not possess a quick drain valve on the right side. These valves allow for clean and easy voiding of used oil from the engine through a hose and into a container. With my airplane apparently lacking such a convenience, we rigged a funnel in the mouth of a jug to catch the oil after removing a plug from the oil pan. This resulted in permanent recoloration of the hangar's concrete floor because the oil pan drained more quickly than the funnel, which overflowed almost immediately. In this case, the funnel was what we chemists call the "rate limiting step". 

To add further insult, while cleaning up the resulting mess, I noticed that there was a quick drain valve installed on the left side of my oil pan. Oil change padawan that I was, I revealed this to my chagrined Jedi Master and we both learned something useful about making assumptions across engine models. Despite crunching over kitty litter on the hangar floor for the next couple of weeks, a discernable localized stain persists to this day. At least all future oil changes went smoothly via the newly discovered quick drain.

When you have friends trained in the art of formation flying, they always want to practice. Whenever our airplanes were in the air together, Dave was always parked off my wing. 22 August 2004.

Another aerial incident emphasized the importance of an instrument scan that goes beyond the basic six pack of primary flight instruments. While flying southbound over the Lake Michigan shoreline with Dave in his Decathlon flying in close formation off my starboard wing, I lost transmitter capability. This was quickly followed by horrific screeching on the intercom and eventual loss of radio reception. Confused and annoyed, I returned to base at South Haven. While grumpily snapping off switches during the shut down flow, I reached for the avionics master switch and noticed for the first time that the ship's ammeter was pegged at zero. This meant that the alternator was no longer providing any current to the electrical system and that everything was powered on borrowed time until the battery gave up. Alternator failure was the natural outcome of my 1970s Chrysler alternator breaking loose from its mounting on the front of the engine and shaking around until its internal components disintegrated. (See? I said it was dodgy.) These kinds of events change a pilot's behavior. How many pilots grab the housing of their alternator to give it a good shake on every preflight? I've been doing that consistently for 20 years as a result of the Alternator Incident. Additionally, though it may be inconveniently placed on the lower right portion of the instrument panel, that ammeter remains in my scan all these years later.

Cell phone photo by Ross W from Dave's Decathlon in formation with Mark in 33P and me in Warrior 481 over South Haven, MI, 30 July 2005. Fun fact: Ross' grandfather Irving had been in aviation for so long that his 1926 pilot certificate was signed by Orville Wright. This photo was taken just nine days after Dave and I were laid off from "UberCo" along with 500 other scientists.

When I first took possession of Warrior 481, it quickly became obvious that my landing skills needed refinement. According to the official Cherokee Warrior II Information Manual, the recommended approach speed with full flaps is 63 knots. However, on the flight home from Guthrie, I made my approach at exactly 63 knots to the Kentland Municipal Airport (50I) in the midst of a windswept Indiana cornfield. When the wheels made contact, the airplane gently went airborne again before settling a second time. It was less of a bounce and more of a skip. "I liked your landing," said the old timer working the airport while grinning toothily. "Both of 'em!" When I reflect on meeting the fellow 20 years ago, all I remember is white hair and teeth.

To my frustration, this kept happening, but only when I was flying solo. Realizing that 63 knots was intended for the airplane at its maximum gross weight, I started backing off on my landing speed when lightly loaded. Eventually, I settled for a fence crossing airspeed of 55 knots when solo, 60 knots when carrying one passenger, and 63 knots when loaded near maximum gross. Given the Warrior's propensity to float at higher approach speeds, these adjustments made my landings softer, shorter, smoother, and more consistent. This was affirmed by a total stranger one day at the Mason County Airport (KLDM) in Ludington, MI. Right after I touched down, a pilot waiting to depart was so moved by the grace of my refined landing technique that he offered this unsolicited commentary on the radio: "That was a really nice short landing for a Warrior!" It wasn't just the rando in Ludington who validated my technique, it has also withstood the scrutiny of many flight instructors over the years.

17 September 2003: riding back seat with Dave and looking down South Haven's grass runway 14.

With normal landings figured out, the next challenge was landing on South Haven's turf runway 32 that was normally favored by the wind off Lake Michigan. Although 3,260 feet is plenty of length to land a Cherokee, this was complicated by high trees on the approach end and an undesirably gopher infested surface for the latter half of the runway. Flying a steep approach while cranked around sideways in a full forward slip became the norm to get down and stopped before the runway midpoint. Just above the ground, all three axes of flight needed to be fixed before touchdown: wings leveled, rudder used to align the airplane with the runway, and a gentle pull on the elevator to ensure settling the airplane on its main gear. During one instance, we were hosting a cookout at Dave's hangar. I performed this landing maneuver in front of a large audience of other pilots while making all three attitude corrections in one fluid motion and settling to the grass light as a feather. It was pure poetry; all these years later I still remember exactly how that landing felt. Taxiing off the runway to run a gauntlet of witnesses, I was appalled to see Mark hold up a big sign with the number "6" on it. Once he knew that I'd seen it, he laughed and inverted the sign to read "9", then dropped the sign altogether and picked up another that read "10". Behind him, the others held up both hands with all fingers splayed, a perfect 10 from every judge and a welcome confidence boost for a newbie aviator.

The Bear on the controls for the first time. 1 September 2012.

Obviously, more learnings were to come. Increasingly longer cross country flights and the need to manage weather. Achievement of an instrument rating and the need to manage weather in a completely different way. Flying with first an infant, then a toddler ("Me fly in the Daddy airplane?"), and eventually a precocious youngster to whom I regrettably described the function of the Course Deviation Indicator ("Daddy, you're off course again.").

In Cortland, NY, 08 September 2014.

A house is a house and a car is a car, but buying an airplane in 2004 literally changed the course of my life. One new engine and several avionics upgrades later, she is still going strong. I have logged 2571.8 hours at her controls, we have visited 263 airports in 29 states and provinces together, and travelled a total distance of approximately 340,000 statue miles. I have seen many beautiful vistas, enjoyed wonderful adventures, happily shared the experience with others, stayed connected with far flung friends and family, and learned much along the way. It is often said that the cockpit is a poor classroom. While I agree with the sentiment underpinning this, airplanes and aviation are nonetheless excellent teachers.

Stagnation was the main motivation for venturing down the ownership pathway. By the end of 2003, I ran out of worthwhile adventures in the rental aircraft available to me in Three Rivers, MI. I was getting bored and I needed something new to do or else I would have stopped flying altogether. With Dave as a role model and concrete example that it was possible, I bought an airplane 20 years ago and never looked back. 

I guess the strategy worked, because here we are.

Hydrodynamic | Part 2, Float Flying

Monday, May 8, 2023: A New Way to Fly

Date	Aircraft	Route of Flight	Time (hrs)	Total (hrs)
08 May 2023	PA-12S N3071M	Silver Lake - Long Lake - Duck Lake - Green Lake - Silver Lake	3.8	2621.3

Seaplane training with Tom (Traverse Air) was a casual experience. We conducted ground school at his kitchen counter, the airplane was parked in his back yard, and Silver Lake served as our runway. Conveniently located just outside Cherry Capital's delta airspace, seaplane training ensued without any ATC entanglements. Tom is an excellent instructor and a true gentleman. I really enjoyed learning from him and getting to know him. And his airplane is a lot of fun to fly.

The aircraft in question is a modified 1947 Piper PA-12 Super Cruiser. These airplanes are descended from the iconic Piper J-3, the same type that I flew for my tailwheel endorsement. In many ways, Super Cruisers are simply big Cubs. The model is best known for the historic 1947 flight around the world conducted in a pair of Super Cruisers, The City of Washington and The City of the Angels. The adventure marked the first time a flight of this type was made by light personal aircraft. Fittingly, The City of the Angels is on display at the Piper Museum in Lock Haven, PA and its companion Super Cruiser hangs in the Udvar-Hazy Center of the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum.

Super Cruisers represent an evolution of the Piper J-3 Cub featuring more powerful engines (up to 100 horsepower), are soloed from the front seat rather than the back for much better visibility, and can accommodate three in a tandem configuration with the pilot in front and two passengers sitting on a wide back seat. The latter assumes reasonably slender passengers, of course.

Tom purchased this airplane 40 years ago and made numerous modifications to it over time. Exchanging wheels for a pair of straight EDO 2000 floats is the most significant and relevant modification. He replaced the original 100 hp engine with a 150 hp Lycoming O-320 (the low compression version of Warrior 481's powerplant). Tom correctly pointed out that he can run auto gas in his O-320 whereas I cannot in my higher compression variant. Addition of flaps, vortex generators, and a specialty propeller designed for seaplanes all make the airplane far more capable of pulling those draggy floats out of the water and into the air.

As Tom familiarized me with the aircraft, he pointed out the lack of additional ventral fin. Many production landplanes converted into seaplanes are modified with an extra ventral fin projecting below the empennage. This is done because floats are destabilizing in yaw while in flight. Extra vertical surface area acts as a keel to mitigate that instability. Tom's mechanic talked him out of installing the ventral fin because it can be easily damaged during docking. However, lacking the extra vertical surface area, Tom's aircraft requires assertive rudder use by the pilot to combat the resulting yaw instability.

A previous owner added a P-51 Mustang control stick complete with trigger to the Super Cruiser. Tom invited me to pull the trigger all I wanted; there were no guns to fire. This seems like a lost opportunity for dealing with jet skis.

The instrument panel is basic, but equipped with a radio (that we never used) and an electric starter. There are no gyroscopic instruments and, despite the presence of a turn coordinator, it is unpowered and apparently only installed for the inclinometer. The altimeter is simply zeroed to the surface of the lake before departure.

I loved flying Tom's seaplane. Not only did it reveal an entirely new universe of flight to me, it is a solid, honest airplane that is fun to fly. On top of that, you can't go wrong with blue and white.

As an add-on rating for an existing private pilot, training is focused on those elements of flying unique to seaplanes, mainly take-off, landing, and handling on the water. Tom was complimentary of my rudder use. "You're well coordinated with the rudder, usually I'm being swung around back here." I guess some of that tailwheel training with Damian actually stuck.

Another bit of positive skill transfer from tailwheel flying that I observed was taxiing with the water rudders down. Rudder inputs needed to be deliberately neutralized with opposite rudder in the floatplane much like when taxiing the Cub.

Seaplane on the step. From the FAA Seaplane, Skiplane, and Float/Ski Equipped Helicopter Operations Handbook, 2004 Edition.

During take-off, seaplane flying is a far more sensory experience than flying land planes. At full power with aft stick, the seaplane's nose rises as the airplane enters the plowing position. With additional speed, the deck angle increases even further due to hydrodynamic lift causing the floats to partially rise out of the water. After this second rise of the nose, forward stick brings the aircraft onto the step and lifts the aft portions of the floats completely out of the water (see the figure above from the FAA's seaplane operations handbook for an example). Being on the step reduces drag and allows the seaplane to accelerate more effectively for take-off. The pilot experiments with pitch to find the optimal position on the step, a sweet spot discernable by palpable acceleration. That sensation is incredibly rewarding, a product of physics conspiring with the airplane to signal "good job!" to the pilot. I had a goofy grin on my face every single time I found the sweet spot.

"Keep looking for that sweet spot," Tom would coach once I found it. "As you accelerate, it will change. Never assume you're still there." 

Take-off usually follows shortly after getting onto the step. In glassy water conditions, when it is more challenging to break the floats free from the water's surface tension, slight deflection of the stick to the side lifts the opposite float out of the water, thus halving the drag and facilitating take-off. I found myself using this technique whenever the airplane seemed hesitant to depart the water. When I did, Tom would comment, "There you go! And it's fun, too." He was right. It was.

We flew three times on the first day totaling just under four hours while hopping from Silver Lake to Duck, Long, and Green Lakes. (The latter being where the Interlochen Center for the Arts is located.) We did various types of turns in the water and drilled on different landing and take-off techniques tailored to fit various water surface conditions. I particularly enjoyed rough water take-offs that are the seaplane equivalent of soft field take-offs. In Tom's plane, these are performed with full flaps (40°) and an aggressive pull at 30 mph that launches the aircraft skyward. Between the upgraded engine, prop, vortex generators, and flaps, Tom's modified Super Cruiser performs beautifully during this maneuver.

As we flew, Tom shared a number of stories. My favorite was how, as an enthusiastic twenty-something new Super Cruiser owner, he wrote to famed Piper aircraft engineer Walter Jamouneau (the man who put the "J" in J-3) and received a multipage reply.

Bureaucratic Woes

Tom had a student from Cincinnati scheduled for her check ride on my first day of training. He did a review flight with her while I found lunch at Bubba's Burgers and Bar in Traverse City. I had the Haystack Burger that was probably incredibly unhealthy for me, but really, really good. Tom and I planned to fly again while the examiner conducted the oral exam with the other student, intending to return soon enough with the airplane that she could fly her check ride.

Before I could crank the engine, the examiner ran out on the dock and informed Tom that the student only had a copy of her medical certificate, not the official document. Without her medical certificate, the examiner could not begin the test. To his credit, he did everything he could for her, including calling other examiners in search of a solution as well as the FAA medical branch in Oklahoma City to request an official copy by email. The FAA refused to email a copy, which struck me as odd because they have emailed my medical certificates to me in the past. Sadly, the student had to return home to Cincinnati without taking her check ride or earning her seaplane rating. How disappointing!

Once she departed, Tom wanted to see my medical certificate. For some reason, he was not content to merely take my word that I had it. 

That night, after a wonderful dinner of fish and chips with a nut brown ale at North Peak Brewing Company, I settled in with the FAA's IACRA website (Integrated Airman Certification and Rating Application) for the first time since 2013 to submit my application for the seaplane rating. Once again, huge kudos to the developer of MyFlightbook for his inclusion of an 8710 function that tallies up all the key flight experiences in all the odd combinations required by IACRA.

Tuesday, May 9, 2023: Wrap Up and Check Ride

Date	Aircraft	Route of Flight	Time (hrs)	Total (hrs)
09 May 2023	PA-12S N3071M	Silver Lake - Long Lake - Duck Lake - Green Lake - Silver Lake	2.9	2624.2

The next day, Tom and I flew twice to polish everything up. I was on track to meet with the examiner at 1:00 for my check ride.

Kevin conducted the oral exam at the picnic table in Tom's back yard placed within feet of the water. The oral went well and in no time, we were climbing into the Super Cruiser. He had me do a confined area take off from Silver Lake and we flew over to Long Lake for additional take-offs and landings. While surveying Long Lake and discussing wind direction and where to land, Kevin pulled the power to simulate an engine failure and I performed a flawless dead stick landing. Everything seemed to be progressing well until he had me demonstrate a rough water landing. I flared too high and Kevin had to goose the throttle to keep us from coming down too hard.

DAMMIT! (Actual internal dialogue.)

"Let's talk through that a moment," Kevin said as we idled in the middle of the lake. Because he had to intervene, I would not pass the check ride that day. Obviously, I am not thrilled to recount this part of the story; failing what should have been the easiest check ride in history. But in keeping with the warts-and-all philosophy of this site, there it is. It happened.

Kevin offered me a choice. If I was too rattled by the failure, we could stop the test and return to Tom's. Or I could continue the test and demonstrate the remaining items on Kevin's list. If I completed the other areas of emphasis satisfactorily, the retake would involve demonstrating a single rough water landing and nothing else. I pulled myself together, opted to continue, and satisfactorily completed the remaining objectives including a good docking at Tom's back on Silver Lake.

Tom was baffled. "What happened? Your landings have been consistently good." I couldn't explain it. Somehow, I had grossly misjudged my height above the surface. In hindsight, the best explanation I can offer is test anxiety. I do well with written and oral tests, but the moment I have someone evaluating the way I do something, anxiety really kicks in and almost always affects my performance.

Kevin and Tom put their heads together to figure out how to quickly schedule some additional training and a retest. Tom planned to work with a multiengine student the following morning, but was available in the afternoon. Kevin could meet at 4:00 pm the next day with the caveat that he would be working in Cadillac, MI. Tom and I agreed to fly the Super Cruiser to Lake Missaukee (a 25 minute flight one way), meet Kevin on the public beach at the east end of the lake, and I would demonstrate a successful (in principle) rough water landing for him to wrap up my certification.

Ugh.

Tuesday, May 9, 2023: College Connections

Date	Aircraft	Route of Flight	Time (hrs)	Total (hrs)
09 May 2023	N21481	TVC (Traverse City, MI) - MKG (Muskegon, MI) - TVC	2.4	2626.6

To put it mildly, I was incredibly angry with myself. Fortunately, I was already scheduled to meet Chris, a former college housemate, in Muskegon that night for dinner. Muskegon was an hour flight southwest of Traverse City and the realignment of my mental resources to focus on that flight in the Warrior was exactly the right therapy for me in the moment.

Departure from Cherry Capital looking west over Boardman Lake (left) and the west branch of Grand Traverse Bay.

Within forty minutes of departing Tom's, I launched from Cherry Capital's runway 36 in the Warrior and turned southwest direct to Muskegon.

Traverse City's Cherry Capital Airport with the east branch of Grand Traverse Bay visible.

Silver Lake.

Departing Cherry Capital’s delta airspace to the southwest, I flew directly over Silver Lake, easily recognizing it from the many landings I made there in the seaplane over the past two days.

Duck Lake (center) and Green Lake (right of frame).

The air was not kind to me that afternoon. Under that beautiful blue sky, the atmosphere was so choppy and rough that I reduced power to minimize strain on the airframe.

Objects in Windscreen Are Larger Than They Appear

Partway to Muskegon at 4,500 feet, I observed a small dot in the distance that moved from right to left in my windscreen. Suddenly, its relative motion ceased and it began to increase in size. It was another aircraft at the same altitude coming right at me. Normally, it would be appropriate to break right, but the other airplane appeared to be turning slightly in that direction already and I did not want to turn into it.  Likewise, I did not want to turn to the left in case the other pilot actually saw me and broke to his right the way he was supposed to. Instead, I chopped the power and dove. The other airplane zoomed directly over me, close enough to discern that it was a large Piper twin. Looking out the back window, I saw it continue on toward the Lake Michigan shore, its trajectory unchanged and its pilot apparently oblivious to my presence. I glanced down at the traffic display to see if I could get a tail number, but no target appeared there. Was its transponder off? Sketchy.

I took a moment to catch my breath and allow my heart rate to lessen before contacting Great Lakes Approach for the arrival at Muskegon.

Muskegon Lake with Lake Michigan in the distance.

Muskegon was the towered airport included on the long solo cross country flight that I flew as a student pilot. Arriving there was my only truly negative experience during primary training. Not because I did not know how to handle the airplane. In fact, I specifically remember that the landing was glorious. But when I landed there twenty-one years ago, I lacked adequate training on radio and towered airport procedures. I was verbally all thumbs on the radio, could not process all the information thrown at me on take-off, and drew the ire of the departure controller. I was affected deeply by this and my current level of radio acumen developed as a direct reaction to the Muskegon incident. It seemed a cruel coincidence to return there on the same day as busting a check ride and nearly perishing in a midair collision. At least my radio work with Muskegon was flawless this time.

A Long Way from Branch Road

Me and Chris. Photo by Heath.

Chris was craving hibachi, so we zoomed off to Kazumi once he picked me up at Executive Air. We were joined by his colleague Heath who was interested in learning to fly and was looking for a new brain to pick on the subject. Dinner was good, though I declined the squirt bottle of sake aimed at my face by the hibachi chef because I still needed to fly back to Traverse City that night.

"It's pretty watered down," Chris offered. I passed anyway.

It was good to catch up with Chris. We spent part of the time trying to decide exactly how long it had been since our last meeting and concluded that it was sometime before The Bear was born. We actually avoided the trap of only reminiscing about old times, though we shared the famous wicked butter incident from Toronto with Heath. Otherwise, so much had happened to both of us in the years since we last met that there was a lot to talk about.

The RENK America building in Muskegon, MI photographed 12 May 2023.

Chris is an automotive engineer currently employed by RENK America. The facility was originally a Continental Motors factory that built aircraft engines during World War II. That 1940s Continental crate that I saw in Tuskegee, AL in 2021? It came from the facility where Chris currently works.

Continental Motors crate from Muskegon, MI on display at the Tuskegee Airmen National Historic Site, photographed 13 August 2021.

After dinner, Chris and I returned to the Muskegon airport and parted company on the ramp as the sun was beginning to set.

Ready at Muskegon's runway 24.

Muskegon Lake.

With the onset of night, the air finally calmed and the flight back to Traverse City was significantly more pleasant than the southbound flight had been. Lack of a near midair collision added to the soothing vibe of the return flight.

Returning to Cherry Capital Airport nearly an hour after sunset, I was pointed directly at a large mass of undifferentiated lights and unable to distinguish runways from the surrounding city. I was about to activate an instrument approach for guidance when Minneapolis Center passed me to Traverse City Tower.

Tower instructed me to continue inbound for runway 36 and thoughtfully brightened the runway lights for a moment to help me locate the airport. With the runway in sight, I lined up to land. However, on final approach, I could not remember if I had actually been cleared to land or not.

"Traverse City Tower, can you verify that Cherokee Four Eight One is cleared to land 36?" Tower affirmed that I was. Forgetting whether I had received a clearance to land or not was a moment of clarity revealing how incredibly tired I was. 

After all, it had been quite a day.

Parked on the AvFlight ramp at Cherry Capital Airport.

Wednesday, May 10, 2023: Second Chances and Silver Linings

I slept in to almost 8:00 am the next morning, which is rare for me. My original plan for Wednesday was an exploration of a few selected Upper Peninsula airports and an aerial tour of Pictured Rocks on the south shore of Lake Superior. Those things obviously did not happen given the need for a retest.

Instead, I cleaned up my logbooks, filled out a new IACRA application with updated flight and training times, read a book, and went for a walk. 

Boardwalk along Boardman Lake.

To clear my head, I walked the Boardman Lake Trail, a 4 mile path around the lake that varied from the pictured boardwalk to paths traversing neighborhoods and wooded areas. I already knew that I had gotten lucky with the weather for seaplane flying, but Wednesday was the most glorious day of the week with a high near 80°F, clear skies, and light wind. I even lost some of my winter pallor during the walk around Boardman Lake.

At lunch, I received instructions from Tom to return at 2:00 pm.

New Seaplane Pilot!

(Spoiler Alert)

Date	Aircraft	Route of Flight	Time (hrs)	Total (hrs)
10 May 2023	PA-12S N3071M	Silver Lake - Lake Missaukee - Silver Lake	2.6	2628.8

Tom and I launched from Silver Lake shortly after 2:00 and I performed a couple of perfectly satisfactory landings there. With Tom navigating by iPhone, I flew the plane to Lake Missaukee in Lake City east of Cadillac, MI. This was a cross country flight unlike any that I have undertaken recently. Low, slow, radio silent, and without any navigation in the panel beyond a jittery wet compass. Once Tom got me pointed in the correct direction, I chose a point in the distance and tracked to it, a navigation technique that I have not depended on in years. Due to yaw instability from the floats, I continued to actively work the rudders in cruise. Tom's airplane is fun to fly, but it is tiring as a cross country machine. My right knee ached when the day was done.

We located Lake Missaukee and the beach where Kevin wanted to meet. With some time to spare, we practiced six more landings. At least half of them were pure poetry, smoothly sliding the floats onto the water, cutting the throttle, and gently riding out the bow wave created by our landing. Only one was a little rough. "Don't do one like that with Kevin," Tom suggested.

I landed near shore, cut the engine, and we gently glided across the water to beach the Super Cruiser while a pair of kids playing on shore watched us with great suspicion.

On the beach at Lake Missaukee.

Kevin arrived on time, we hopped back into the airplane, and Tom shoved us off. Because the wind was calm, much of the lake surface was glassy, so Kevin and I explored the opposite end of the lake where some surface texture was visible to help gauge landing. I brought the airplane in for a passable rough water landing.

"OK. Take off again and let's get you your seaplane rating," Kevin prompted.

No more than 50 feet above the water, Kevin said, "My airplane." I surrendered the controls, made some flap and trim adjustments at Kevin's request, and we blasted across the deserted lake at full speed just tens of feet above the water. "I wouldn't expect you to fly this way," Kevin commented. "But it will get us back to the beach quicker and it's a lot more fun." He was definitely correct on both counts.

Newly certificated seaplane pilot. Photo by Tom.

Kevin completed his approval in IACRA and sent me an electronic copy of my temporary airman certificate by text. Lacking a printer on the beach, I would need to print it later. Just like that, I was a newly-rated airman again! As we parted company, I thanked him for all that he taught me.

Tom and I enjoyed another nice cross country flight back to Silver Lake with easy conversation about our past flight experiences. My landing near Tom's dock was perfection now that test anxiety was no longer a factor. I put the seaplane on a trajectory to intercept the dock, pulled the mixture to stop the engine, and we glided in silently.

As our momentum carried us to the dock, I shared with Tom that I genuinely enjoyed the extra time flying the Super Cruiser as well as the unplanned cross country flight. It was a silver lining to the previous day's failure. Tom chuckled and noted that he had past students threaten to fail intentionally so that they could spend more time flying the seaplane. While I completely understood that, I would have much preferred to pass the first time around.

We chatted in his kitchen for a while longer. As conversation dwindled, I thanked Tom for an excellent experience, said goodbye, and drove back to Traverse City. I celebrated with Thai food for dinner and enjoyed the most restful night's sleep of the entire week.

Mission Accomplished!

Since earning the rating, many have asked if I plan to buy a seaplane or put the Warrior on floats. The answer to both is no. Like earning the tailwheel endorsement, I came looking for a unique experience, an opportunity to do some fun flying in a different aircraft, a broadening of my skill set, and a means to satisfy a flight review without making another perfunctory flight with a CFI in the Warrior. Mission accomplished in every aspect!

Two Decades of Flying

Anniversary Adjacent

Where does the time go?

I always considered my first solo flight to be the moment I became a pilot. Sure, I was not certificated yet, but even that milestone is a bit arbitrary. It is not as if learning stops when the FAA bestows a certificate on a new pilot. Rather, the FAA certificate is nothing more than a legal contrivance that commemorates the start of deeper learning from real world flying. Truly, that evening over Dowagiac, MI on September 26, 2001, when I brought Cessna Two Seven Uniform back to Earth as its sole occupant, that was when everything actually changed for me.
 

Southwest Michigan Nostalgia Tour

  

Date	Aircraft	Route of Flight	Time (hrs)	Total (hrs)
26 Aug 2021	N21481	AZO (Kalamazoo, MI) - HAI (Three Rivers, MI) - C91 (Dowagiac, MI) - BTL (Battle Creek, MI) - SDC (Sodus, NY)	4.7	2343.5

"Kalamazoo Clearance, Cherokee Two One Four Eight One, at Duncan, Kilo, VFR to Three Rivers at 3,000."

After breakfast with Kent and his family, I was ready to depart Kalamazoo for home. I felt truly privileged to have laid hands on the Air Zoo's Night Hawk the day before. The route home would be circuitous that day, beginning with the metaphorical and ending with the literal. I launched from Kalamazoo and made the short hop south to Three Rivers, returning to the crucible where my early experience as an aviator was forged.

The runway layout of the Three Rivers - Dr. Haines Municipal Airport (KHAI) is so deeply imprinted on my brain that merely seeing it again released a merry burst of endorphins. I shut down on the ramp at the fuel farm and refueled the Warrior at $4.84/gallon. When I was actively flying out of Three Rivers, the fuel was full-serve and could only be dispensed by highly qualified minimum wage-earning teenagers employed by the FBO. Those full-service days are long over, but fueling my airplane from that pump still feels like breaking the rules.

Warrior 481 at the Three Rivers Municipal Airport, 26 Aug 2021.

I pushed Warrior 481 to the edge of the ramp and entered the perpetually ramshackle terminal building where I encountered a teenager loitering just inside the door. "I love your airplane!" he gushed as soon as I stepped inside. I thanked him, blushing with surprise at the compliment.

He was there to see Doc Schauer, who still does flight physicals at the airport on Thursdays. Back in the days when student pilot and medical certificates were combined into the same document, Doc Schauer signed mine. His signature was a major step along the road to soloing.

Warrior 481 at Three Rivers Municipal Airport, 13 March 2004.

Back outside, I wandered over to Conrad Aero in search of John. Despite my many years away, John recognized me immediately and smiled broadly in welcome. He always had a youthful aspect, especially when he smiled. It had been over a decade since I last visited and, though his hair was whiter, he seemed to have changed very little.

John owned the flight school where I learned to fly and I have many fond memories of him from my early days in aviation. He personally cleaned the windshield of Two Seven Uniform on the morning of my Private Pilot check ride. When I returned to Three Rivers that afternoon after successfully passing, he rushed outside with his brand new digital camera to commemorate the moment with a photo of me and Bill. I still chuckle about the day we were standing on the ramp watching a Western Michigan University student counterproductively diving for the runway on short final while John chanted "dive...dive...dive..." like a submariner under attack. When a student wrecked Eight Two Foxtrot, I presented John with a framed photo of her that I took just before the accident; I was the last pilot to (successfully) fly her. (The student was fine, if rattled.) John scoured logbooks for the airplanes I considered buying and coached me through the prebuy process from the other side of the country while I made the decision to purchase Warrior 481 in Guthrie, OK. Once I brought her home, he took care of Warrior 481's maintenance until I moved to New York. While I was still distraught over losing my job at "UberCo" and concerned about what the future held, I (rashly) offered to sell Warrior 481 to John to replace Two Seven Uniform, his most-loved training aircraft that was irreparably lost in an accident. "No, she's too nice to be a flight school airplane. You should hold on to her," John responded. I can barely fathom how different my life would be today if he had agreed to my offer in the moment.

"Did you drive here?" John asked. In answer, I pointed across the ramp to where Warrior 481 was parked.

John grinned broadly and his blue eyes twinkled. "You still have her!" he exclaimed, clearly pleased.

Pilotage

It was a brief visit to Three Rivers, but an enjoyable one. When I launched, it was with the GNS-430W's moving map display deactivated. I turned to a heading of 330° and watched for the second of two rail lines. When I crossed the second track near Lawton, I turned southwest to follow it knowing that it would lead me directly to my next destination. It was an exercise that I had done many times in the distant past.

A flash of yellow low to the ground caught my eye. A Grumman AgCat crop duster was working the field below, streaking low over the crops, then pitching steeply upward at the edge of the field, executing a graceful wingover, then diving back toward the ground to spray the next row. I miss watching crop dusters work. Even though we have them in New York, I rarely observe them plying their trade.

Within minutes, the Dowagiac Airport appeared in my windscreen.

The Dowagiac Airport (C91) photographed 09 October 2004.

When I was a student pilot in 2001, my greatest fear was getting lost in the air. At the time, the days of cockpit navigation by GPS were still a couple of years away for me. Bill signed me off to fly to Dowagiac alone and I used to practice navigating there and back based on chart and compass (pilotage). The railroad track between Lawton and Dowagiac was my most trusted ground reference. At the time, the exercise was a tremendous confidence builder.

In 2021, even with all the navigational gizmos in Warrior 481's panel muzzled, Dowagiac was trivially easy to find. What a difference a few years makes.

I had not visited Dowagiac since 2005. It was the site of my first airplane ride in Dave's Citabria and also the location of my first solo on September 26, 2001. With the twenty year anniversary of my first solo a mere month away, I wanted to seize the opportunity to revisit the place where it all came together for me. Both events at Dowagiac, my first flight and my first solo, literally changed my life. Although the landing on runway 27 in 2021 was not as graceful as the ones I made the day I soloed in 2001, it was a pleasure to mark the passage of (almost) two decades with a landing and short roll down Dowagiac's runway before climbing skyward for home.

It is difficult to grasp that I have somehow logged two decades of aeronautical adventure. 

Where does the time go?

Flying-In and Pigging Out

Connections

Spoiler alert: I not only went, but I even got the T-shirt!

After a couple of chance encounters with a group of pilots from Bloomsburg, PA, we were invited to the annual fly-in barbecue lunch at Benton Airport (PA40) in October. Denny, the pilot of a Bloomsburg-based GP4 who made the invitation, sent email reminders throughout the summer to ensure that I did not forget. With such a gracious invitation, how could I refuse?

Sectional chart depicting Benton Airport relative to Williamsport, PA

Benton Airport is a 2,200 foot long private grass strip tucked amid the hills of northeast Pennsylvania and located about 24 nautical miles east of Williamsport. I was not comfortable promoting the trip broadly to the Williamson Flying Club because of the short grass runway. Many of our members lack the grass checkout required to operate club planes on turf. Instead, I circulated an email to pilots that I suspected would be willing to tackle Benton. Ed (Archer II) and Mick (Cessna 152) took me up on it. Additionally, Tom flew right seat with me and Eric joined Ed.

Man on the Scene

Weather maps on the morning of the fly-in showed a concerning number of weather stations reporting low IFR conditions at many valley airports in southern New York and eastern Pennsylvania, including Williamsport. While there was too much magenta showing for comfort, it is also true that IFR conditions across the Pennsylvania terrain can be extremely localized. Before we departed, I called Bob, manager and resident of Benton Airport, for advisories. Perhaps not surprisingly, his line was consistently busy. I tried a few times without success.

Just when I had given up, Bob returned my call. I introduced myself and asked about field conditions and visibility. "Field is dry and firm, visibility is clear and a million. Come on down! We're using runway 21 this morning. Use 122.8 for the frequency and we'll see you soon!" It always helps to have a man on the scene and, when the airport manager actually lives right at the airport, it does not get any more on the scene than that.

Traffic Jam

Date	Aircraft	Route of Flight	Time (hrs)	Total (hrs)
19 Oct 2019	N21481	SDC (Sodus, NY) - PA40 (Benton, PA) - SDC	2.8	2049.6

I had some trepidation about requesting flight following from Rochester to PA40 because I was not certain that the identifier for the private airport would be in the ATC database. I had a contingency plan ready -- Benton is 12 miles north of Bloomsburg Airport -- but I need not have worried. Rochester acknowledged the request and we turned on course.

Despite multiple reports for low IFR that morning, conditions improved rapidly as we flew south over a speckled, autumnal vista.

Every so often, a stratospheric contrail is substantial enough to cast a shadow across the landscape. This was one of those times.

"Is there something going on at your destination?" inquired New York Center. "I show several targets converging there." Not much ever gets past the guy at the radar screen.

Over Benton Airport.

When we arrived over Benton, there were several aircraft slotting themselves into the pattern and about forty airplanes already on the ground. By flying overhead, we got the lay of the land and allowed the pattern to clear slightly before entering. Southeast of the field, we descended and joined on the 45° leg to the downwind behind a NORDO (no radio) Piper Cub.

As we turned base, a Grumman Tiger called that it was also on a left base. Tom and I looked every which way, but there was no sign of it. I broadcast that we were turning base but did not have the Grumman in sight.

"Uh...Tiger just turned downwind," came a somewhat sheepish response. That was much less alarming because it meant that the Grumman was not a factor for us.

To my surprise, the Cub we were following aborted his landing and rejoined the pattern. I would have expected the short runway to be cause for some go-arounds that morning, but Cubs do not require much runway and I wondered what really sent him around. Benton's runway is actually a couple of hundred feet longer than the runway at Aeroflex where I earned my tailwheel endorsement in a Cub.

Worried about wear on his prop, Mick expressed some concern about the length of the grass at Benton. But the grass was close-cropped and the runway surface itself quite firm and smooth. Benton has a very well-maintained turf runway.

Denny was on the radio directing traffic to parking. "Cherokee, turn right at the blue barrels for parking," he said while we rolled out following a disappointingly flat landing.

Close on our heels came the position-impaired Grumman and a pair of RVs.

Between the time we overflew the airport and landing, a second line of parked aircraft was created. It was a striking demonstration of how busy Benton Airport truly was that morning because only six minutes elapsed between flying over and bringing Warrior 481 to ground. A lot of airplanes landed during those six minutes. Marshallers directed me to park close enough to a Skylane that our wings had a slight vertical overlap. Benton was planning on a lot of traffic.

The 200

Happy 200. Photo by Tom. 

Upon touching down at Benton Airport, I crossed a new personal threshold. Benton was my 200th airport since I began flying in 2001.

Airplane Watching

With Ed, Eric, and Mick still en route, Tom and I loitered in the parking area to watch the steady stream of aircraft arriving for the barbecue lunch.

A 1971 Citabria on short final

I was pleased to see the Cub that went-around finally make it in. To be denied the grass is a terrible thing for a Cub.

A 1962 Cessna 172 on final approach.

A 1979 Piper PA-28-161 Warrior II

This airplane looked familiar. I think I've encountered it before. Maybe that one time in Oklahoma?

A 2003 Tiger Aircraft (Grumman) Tiger

Our new friend, the Grumman from the pattern, was parked right next to us. I meant to give the pilot a good-natured "you had me going for a moment there" remark, but he avoided eye contact with me entirely and hurried off after disembarking. The crucible of a busy traffic pattern did not make an ideal set-up for friendly ribbing, I suppose.

I truly admired this beautiful RV. "Props" to the builder!

A 1975 Cessna 172.

The Cub looked right at home.

An L4 WWII era military version of the Piper Cub.

A familiar Archer lined up on final. Ed acquitted himself quite well on his first grass landing. The flight to Benton was a milestone for him, too.

A 2000 Aviat Husky.

I've always been a fan of Piper's elegant Comanche. This one is a 1959 PA-24.

A rodeo facility next door explained the existence of the parking area we were using. It definitely appeared to be laid out for cars, not airplanes.

A 1948 Cessna 170

Ed was directed to park Four Four Papa next to a distant relative, a Piper Super Cruiser.

A 1947 Piper PA-12 Super Cruiser. 

A gorgeous Cessna 170

Though Mick was not far behind Ed, the second row of parked airplanes was full by the time he arrived and he was directed to park his 152 in a third row. In all, the tiny grass runway received 105 aircraft for lunch that day.

Pigging Out

We were so taken with the number and variety of visiting aircraft parked around the field that we scarcely noticed the cars in attendance. I have to hand it to 1950s automotive engineers. I consider this to be Detroit's "romantic period" and the designs are still beautiful decades later. There are times that I regret growing up in an era of poorly-built, uninteresting cars. No one will ever show up for cruise night in a 1985 Sunbird like the one I drove as a college student because they were boring and disposable and most did not survive into the 21st century.

The lunch line.

"Welcome to PA40, Benton, PA. Thanks for dropping in!" read the sign over the main hangar where food was being served. At Benton, a meal could be had for the cost of a donation. Hay rides and apple cider pressing were ongoing the entire time.

In early 2019, Benton Airport was savaged by a tornado that destroyed a couple of buildings. One pilot told us that he used to base a Piper Arrow at Benton and fortuitously sold it just a few days before the tornado flattened his hangar. Although the fly-in barbecue is an annual event, part of the 2019 objective was fundraising to effect airport repairs.

Pilots received a free T-shirt on check-in. There is nothing quite like a cross-eyed porcine pilot. Thankfully, we did not encounter anyone matching this description in the airport traffic pattern that day.

Denny promised me that Benton would serve up a superior spread compared to the average fly-in breakfast. He was absolutely correct. There was pork barbecue, baked beans, corn casserole, coleslaw, a plethora of homemade deserts (I had a slice of triple berry pie), and homemade ice cream that my internal ice cream radar failed to detect (a personal fail for the day).

Mick, me, Tom, Eric, and Ed. Photo by Ed.

Our group enjoyed the whole Benton experience (except for missing out on the homemade ice cream). With my newfound experience at Benton, I will attempt to organize a broader club effort next year. The short grass runway will definitely be a deal-breaker for many, but those willing and able to participate will be well-rewarded with a great experience.

Aircraft parking was separated from the food by the runway itself, requiring a designated pedestrian crossing area. After witnessing a couple of close calls with pedestrians walking in front of aircraft operating on the runway, I wondered if a pedestrian caused the Cub's go-around that morning. When one of the Benton pilots shouted at a man strolling casually across the runway in front of a departing airplane, the fellow retorted, "They have brakes, don't they?" The word cavalier came to mind along with others that are less polite.

Mass Departure

After lunch, the parade of departures was even more concentrated than the arrivals had been. We were amazed by how quickly aircraft parking emptied out while we loitered to watch the show.

Citabria symmetry; I caught the same airplane in the air both arriving and departing.

There's nothing quite like a V-tailed Bonanza to class-up an event.

A 1959 Piper PA-24 Comanche

We hiked to the end of the runway to greet Denny who still manning the radio. "You made it!" he exclaimed. We complimented Denny on his arranging such excellent weather for the event.

A 1998 Aviat Husky 

1955 Cessna 180

We watched a Cherokee 140 make a decidedly marginal takeoff, but I am not convinced that I coaxed much better performance out of Warrior 481. My days of routinely flying from grass ended in 2005 (thanks a ton, UberCo) and I was clearly rusty.

A 1958 Cessna 172.

A few of the itinerant experimental aircraft were equipped with smoke systems to make for showier departures...

...and to render the airport temporarily IFR in their wake.

The RVs that arrived just behind me departed in formation.

Coming back around, the pair zoomed over the field with smoke on.

A 1976 Piper PA-28-181 Archer II. Warrior 481 had a few contemporaries on the field.

Launch

My departure was somewhat marginal; 2,200 feet of grass makes for a more challenging take-off than what I am accustomed to. A hillside rises steeply off the end of runway 21, but a left turn  allowed us to follow lower terrain while the Warrior pulled us skyward.

Fringe Benefits

We arrived back home over Sodus with peak fall color on display along the southern Lake Ontario shore.

Pigging out came with a lot of fringe benefits: flying with friends, seeing a variety of interesting airplanes, getting my grass runway fix for 2019, landing at my 200th airport, strengthening connections with other northeast pilots, and...

What I am missing? Oh, right, and lunch! And it was good.