Category Archives: aviation

Executive summary: I am now a certificated private pilot, airplane, single-engine land (what the FAA refers to as the PP-ASEL rating). 

I’d originally planned to take my checkride on 11 December, just a few days after my previous checkride post. The DPE, Sherry Diamond, met me at Palo Alto right at 9; I had arrived earlier to preflight the airplane and pull the maintenance records to verify that the airplane was airworthy.

Sherry did a great job of concisely explaining the process: we had a few minutes of get-acquainted time, then we reviewed the paperwork necessary for the checkride (including the IACRA application), and she explained that we’d do the oral portion of the exam then proceed to the flight test portion. At any time, she told me, I could discontinue the test without penalty– yeah, right, I thought.

Briefing done, we started the oral portion of the exam. There were no surprises here: she asked me questions about weather, night operations, aircraft systems (example: “does this airplane have any deicing equipment?” “Not really; just a heater and defroster, but it’s not approved for flight into known icing anyway.”), and other topics specified in the PTS. I reviewed the maintenance records with her, then we discussed the planned route of flight: from KPAO east across the Bay to the east side of I-880, then south to pick up US 101, then continuing on along a route I carefully plotted with checkpoints. As I briefed her on the route, I explained why I’d chosen that particular route, what the weather briefers had told me about enroute and destination weather, and so on. She asked a few additional follow-up questions and then asked me if I was ready to go to the plane. Was I ever!

We went to the plane, where I gave her a quick passenger brief ( a required element of the PTS). After that, we strapped in and I started the plane, completed my pre-taxi checklist, called Palo Alto ground to get taxi instructors, and taxied out for takeoff. After the runup, Sherry asked for a short-field takeoff and I gave her a good one, then I demonstrated power-off and soft-field landings.

On my next takeoff, I started flying the planned route… but not for long; Sherry told me that the weather at our destination was below minimums and that I should divert to Hayward. I planned the diversion without incident, then it was off to the practice area for airwork.

My airwork was a little raggedy; in fact, I muffed the power-on stall, a maneuver that’s supposed to simulate an accidental stall during takeoff. I didn’t take off enough power at stall entry, so my pitch angle was too high. I knew right then that I’d failed, which was aggravating for two reasons– the obvious one, plus the fact that I hadn’t failed on the recovery from the stall but on the entry. The whole point of that maneuver is to test whether you can safely get out of a situation that you should never get into in the first place.

We headed back toward Palo Alto and she gave me a simulated engine failure over Fremont. I was rattled from my previous failure, so I put the flaps down too early and failed to maintain the correct airspeed (a topic on which I’ll have a lot to say in my next aviation post, in fact). I wasn’t too upset about that, since I’d already failed the ride. We headed back to the airport for a debrief; Sherry and Andy were both encouraging, but I was crushed.

It’s fair to say that I went through the standard mourning process over the next couple of days, but it didn’t take me long to realize that it was no one’s fault but mine: I had failed to meet the practical test standards, so I determined to redouble my efforts and fix the deficiencies.. and that’s exactly what I did! We rescheduled the checkride for 21 December, but the weather was terrible; with the intervening holidays, 8 January was the first date that Sherry had open.

In the interim, I practiced a whole bunch. As promised, I’ll cover that in another post later.

Tuesday morning dawned bright and clear; I packed my flight gear and went to work until it was time to meet Sherry at the airport. This ride promised to be shorter since we didn’t need to repeat the oral exam or any of the other stuff I’d previously practiced. After reviewing the paperwork again, a process made more challenging by a balky computer, we headed out to the airplane. After a normal takeoff, I took us to the practice area, avoiding conflicting traffic twice, demonstrated recovery from both power-on and power-off stalls, and headed back across the Bay towards Palo Alto, whereupon Sherry promptly gave me a simulated engine failure. I handled this one much more gracefully, maintaining the right airspeed throughout. With that done, she had me fly back to Palo Alto, whereupon I stuck a very nice short-field landing– one of my best ever, in fact.

We taxied back to the parking area in silence; after I shut down the airplane, Sherry extended her hand and said, simply, “Congratulations.”

We had a short debrief that covered her impressions of my performance, then we used the computer to print out my Temporary Airman Certificate. This is exactly like a temporary driver’s license; I’ll use it until I get the nice laminated plastic one from the FAA in Oklahoma City. In the meantime, though… I’m a pilot!

Air Facts Journal is one of my favorite web publications. I’ve been reading Richard Collins since I was a wee lad (thank you, FLYING Magazine) and the other authors and editors there are every bit as good– I learn something from just about every article. One of my favorite features is their “Go or No Go,” in which you’re presented with a realistic scenario involving a flight: you’re in city X, you want to get to city Y, here’s the weather, here are any other pertinent facts… do you go or not? The discussions around these articles have been really helpful in pointing out to me what my personal minimums and comfort levels are at this stage of my aviation career (which I intend to be long-lived, thus my interest in learning from the experiences of others).

This week’s “Go or No-Go” involves the world’s most famous freight pilot:

Talk about “get-home-itis.” Your trip today is the final leg of a marathon freight dog run, with over 1 billion legs in the logbook so far. The flight has gone flawlessly, but you’re dead tired and would really like to get home to the Mrs. (Claus, that is). But just because you’re the big red man doesn’t mean you can skip the weather briefing, so you take one last glance at your iPad before takeoff.

It shows a good deal of white stuff out there and some serious fog, so it looks like your last flight won’t be easy. The good news is you are very current (23 hours in the last day) and your Mark IV sleigh is in excellent condition. You also don’t have to worry about running out of fuel tonight–you started using renewable energy sources long before it was fashionable–so you can deviate if you need to.

Read the report below and then tell us if you’re going or canceling.

Even if you aren’t a pilot, it’s worth looking at the scenario to get a sense of some of the factors that can influence, positively or negatively, a decision to complete a planned flight. The other scenarios they’ve published make for interesting reading too.

The FAA requires that pilots have what’s known as a biennal flight review, or BFR. Every two years, you have to fly with an instructor, who’s supposed to point out anything you need to work on. Of course, pilots who fly charter, passenger, or cargo flights may have additional “line checks” or other check flights.

To prepare for his checkride, Santa had the elves wash the sled and bathe all the reindeer. Santa got his logbook out and made sure all his paperwork was in order. He knew the examiner would examine all his equipment and truly put his flying skills to the test…

The morning of the checkride arrived. The examiner arrived promptly, introduced himself, and started the inquisition with a barrage of questions. Moving to the hangar, the examiner walked slowly around the sled. He checked the reindeer harnesses, the landing gear, and Rudolph’s nose. He painstakingly reviewed Santa’s weight and balance calculations for the sled’s enormous payload.

Finally, they were ready for the checkride. Santa got in and fastened his seatbelt and shoulder harness and checked the compass. Then the examiner hopped in carrying, to Santa’s surprise, a shotgun.

“What’s that for?!?” asked Santa incredulously.

The examiner winked and said, “I’m not supposed to tell you this ahead of time,” as he leaned over to whisper in Santa’s ear, “but you’re gonna lose an engine on takeoff.”

(hat tip to John at Golf Hotel Whiskey).

Part of the reason I’ve been so quiet lately is that I’ve been preparing for the check ride for my private pilot’s license. I’ve written before about the requirements for the check ride; just as with your driver’s license, to get a pilot’s licenses you must  demonstrate competency by passing a practical test. Before you are allowed to take the practical test, you must pass a written exam and meet some minimum requirements for the amount and kind of training you need. I have met all the minimums– including flying at night and flying without outside visual reference, using flight instruments alone– and have a check ride scheduled for next week. Since early September, I’ve been practicing various maneuvers and studying the body of knowledge that the examiner will expect me to demonstrate competence in. About a month ago, I got the nod from my instructor: “It’s time. Call the examiner and schedule your check ride.” 

Of course, I did so immediately and was crushed to find out that she couldn’t schedule me until mid-December. Undaunted, I took the first available date and kept on studying and learning. One big focus area for me was landings. The practical test standards require that the applicant demonstrate four kinds of landings:

• the “regular” kind
• power-off landings: at a point on the downwind leg of the traffic pattern, you pull the throttle to idle and glide to a landing on the selected runway
• short-field landings, in which you must pick a point on the runway and land within a specified distance after (but not before) it. This simulates approach and landing to a short runway, or over an obstacle such as a tree, crane, or tower in the approach path. The key to making great short-field landings is airspeed control: if you are going too fast when you cross the runway threshold, your airplane will float on seemingly forever, causing you to miss your touchdown point.
• soft-field landings, which you might use to land on grass, sand, a plowed field, or other non-paved surfaces. The key here is to land the airplane as softly as possible, which requires quite a bit of finesse (not to mention excellent airspeed control) and to use aerodynamic braking instead of the wheel brakes to slow down.

For extra fun, you can combine these– imagine, for example, that you need to land in a plowed field after an engine failure and you have a power-off soft-field landing. And, of course, there are short- and soft-field takeoffs, too. Being able to do these consistently is critical, because each type of takeoff and landing has characteristic speeds and distances that the examiner will evaluate. I can honestly say that my landings have improved beyond the point I thought possible– if you’d told me a year ago that I could land my airplane safely in 500′ of runway I wouldn’t have believed it.

FAA check rides are supposed to be based on realistic scenarios. Here’s the extent of the guidance I got from the examiner:

I’m planning on meeting you at 9am (traffic permitting).  You can plan xctry to KPRB, calculate takeoff and landing distances over a 50ft obstacle and I’m 120lbs with no bags for weight and balance.  Go ahead and preflight and assure fuel is as desired.

I have a destination and I know how much payload I need to haul (in this case, right about 300 lbs). Other than that, the route, fuel on board, altitude, intermediate stops if any, and every other aspect of the flight are up to me as the pilot-in-command (PIC). This nicely reflects the common uses for light aircraft: go to a specified destination with a passenger, with all the other factors being subject to the PIC’s judgement. To meet the requirements for this scenario, I need to be able to show the examiner a solid flight plan, taking into account weather, terrain, airport availability, and any other considerations that might impact my ability to get us safely there and back. (The only slightly unusual aspect of this plan is that my flight plan needs to include obstacle clearance; there currently aren’t any obstacles at Palo Alto or Paso Robles, but the FAA requires that applicants show that they know how to plan for obstacle clearance, so thus it shall be.) I need to show that I can file a flight plan and deal with air traffic control (ATC) as we fly, including canceling the flight plan when we divert and dealing with any instructions that ATC may give us en route. 

Before we get to that point I have to prove that the airplane is airworthy, which I’ll do by showing that its maintenance records are up to date and that any required inspection or maintenance has been performed. This is really part of the oral exam, which is more or less continuous: the examiner will be evaluating my knowledge from the minute I shake her hand and say “hello” until she signs my temporary license. The examiner can ask anything she likes about any aspect of what private pilots are supposed to know, and I’d better be able to answer correctly. She is also expected to create what the FAA calls a “realistic distraction” to see how I handle it; this means she can try to distract me by talking, dropping an object and asking me to pick it up, or anything else that a passenger might reasonably do in flight. 

Will we actually fly to Paso Robles? Nope. At some point along the route, the examiner will divert me to an alternate destination, simulating a change in weather at the destination or perhaps a passenger who has to go to the bathroom RIGHT NOW I MEAN IT. The examiner will also simulate an in-flight emergency that requires a simulated emergency landing. She can also fail, or simulate failure of, anything else in the airplane, including navigation and communications systems. I’ll also have to demonstrate the maneuvers called for in the PTS, which will be done somewhere along our route of flight. 

There’s a surprising amount of paperwork that has to happen first. The FAA uses a system called IACRA to process applicant paperwork. I had to fill out an application in IACRA, then my flight instructor had to log in to IACRA and approve it; along with an endorsement in my logbook, this signals the examiner that I’ve met the skill and knowledge requirements to attempt the practical test. Updating my logbook and completing the IACRA paperwork took me a couple of hours, but I finished it this morning. All the paperwork is done, so all I need now is a good night’s sleep on Monday and good weather on Tuesday! 

It’s getting close!

To get a pilot’s license or rating in the US, you have to pass a practical examination with an FAA examiner.

Side note: “What’s the difference between a license and a rating?” you ask. A license gives you flying privileges for a particular category and class, such as  “airplane, single-engine, land” or “Zeppelin.” A rating gives you additional privileges for whatever licenses you hold, such as an instrument rating (which you use in conjunction with a single- or multi-engine airplane license, a helicopter license, or whatever.) 

The examiner may be an FAA employee, but more often is what the FAA calls a DPE: a designated pilot examiner. Think of the DPE like a sort of super-instructor: a civilian instructor who handles practical exams for the FAA and has the power to grant, or deny, your license based on your exam performance. Each FAA field office has a list of DPEs to which it has delegated this authority (here’s the San Jose list.) 

How do you know what the examiner will test you on? There’s a document for each license and rating known as the Practical Test Standard, or PTS,  that tells you. For example, the parachute rigger PTS spells out exactly what a parachute rigger must know; likewise the PTS for various pilot licenses.  The PTS I’m working on is here; it sets out three things:

• What the examiner may and must test the applicant on during the oral exam. Most of these descriptions are very broad, and include the phrase “exhibit knowledge.” The DPE can ask you pretty much anything as a means of seeing whether you can exhibit knowledge; there’s no category of things they cannot ask you.
•  What maneuvers the examiner may and must test. Most of these are self-evident: climbs, turns, descents, straight-and-level flight, steep turns, and so on. In a few cases, the examiner can choose one (or more) maneuvers from a list. 
• What performance standards each maneuver requires. For example, a steep turn requires 45° of bank, ±5º, and you must maintain altitude ±100 feet.

As you might imagine, the practical examination is a big deal. Before you can take it, your CFI has to give you a logbook endorsement indicating that you’re ready. This endorsement means that your instructor thinks you’re prepared for both parts of the check ride: the oral exam and the practical flight test. Preparation is super important. I’ve been studying the PTS so I know the required precision for the maneuvers, practicing the maneuvers both with my instructor and solo, studying the ASA check ride exam prep guide, and watching the King Schools check ride prep course. Of these things, the most important is the flying practice. The two things I need to nail down are crosswind takeoffs and landings and short-field landings; more on those in the next post.

There’s an old saw in aviation: to be a successful pilot, all you have to do is make sure that your lifetime total of takeoffs and landings match. With that in mind, student pilots spend a fair amount of time practicing various kinds of takeoffs and landings to become proficient. In this particular session, we worked on soft-field takeoffs and landings.

One thing that many non-pilots assume is that airplanes can take off or land pretty much anywhere. This is true for some values of “airplanes” and “pretty much anywhere.”  It’s true that almost any reasonably level surface of sufficient length can be used as a landing strip, but some airplanes are much better suited to what we call unimproved strips– those that aren’t paved– than others.  If you watch almost any TV show involving Alaska, for example, you’ll see lots of video of airplanes landing on grass strips, dirt, gravel or sandbars in rivers, snow, and ice. Some of these airplanes will have tricycle gear (meaning a nose wheel and two main gear located under the fuselage), while others will be taildraggers (which use a steerable wheel under the tail, along with two main gear). Some will have skis, while others will have big bush tires. But what about your everyday, run-of-the-mill Cessna or Piper? It turns out that they can operate just fine from many kinds of unimproved runway, including grass and dirt strips. More to the point, though, in case of a precautionary or forced landing, it’s really important to know how to take off and land safely on soft-surfaced runways, so we practice it.

For a soft-field takeoff or landing in a tricycle-gear airplane, one key is to try to keep the nose wheel off the ground as much as possible by keeping the yoke back. As airspeed increases, keeping the yoke back raises the nose, lessening the load on the nose wheel and reducing the chance that it will dig in to the surface and flip the plane over. As you land, keeping the yoke back allows you to convert forward airspeed into lift, which has the beneficial effect of slowing the airplane down quickly without using brakes and while keeping the nose wheel out of the mud, or whatever is on the surface.

To accomplish a good soft-field takeoff, there are a few other things to do. First, momentum is your friend. Once you begin to turn onto the runway, you don’t stop to line up (provided, of course, that ATC hasn’t told you to “line up and wait,” which means that they’ve cleared you to line up on the departure end of the runway and wait for clearance to actually take off while another aircraft lands), and you control your taxi speed such that you don’t have to use the brakes as you turn to align with the runway. As you’re completing your turn, you advance the power smoothly to takeoff power while keeping the yoke back. Once you gain sufficient speed to take off, you add enough up-elevator to leave the runway surface and then immediately push forward so that you don’t climb.

“Wait, what?” I can hear you asking.

Flying machines can benefit from something known as ground effect. This is what makes hovercraft work; an airfoil moving within a certain distance off the ground will generate a sort of cushion of air that provides additional lift and reduced drag, beyond what the airfoil generates on its own. You might remember from a previous discussion that every airplane has a characteristic speed at which it climbs best— it gains the most altitude for each foot of forward motion at that speed. The goal of keeping the aircraft in ground effect is to keep it off the muddy/sticky/grassy surface– which would just slow it down– and allow it to accelerate to best-climb speed as quickly as possible, while surfing the cushion of ground-effect air. This takes some getting used to because your learned reaction to leaving the ground is to put in enough pitch to climb at the desired speed. Instead of doing that, you have to force the aircraft to stay close to the ground until it’s time to climb. This is easy to do; it just requires some extra thought. Once you’ve reached best-climb speed, you can trim the aircraft to maintain that speed, retract the flaps (if you added any), and transition to a normal climb.

Soft-field landings are all about speed. If you’re landing on a soft field it’s a good bet that the field is also shorter than you might like, so you’ll want to slow down your approach. Even if the field is long, though, you’ll still carry 5-10 knots less speed into the approach. For short-field approaches in the 172, I fly 70 knots with the first 10° of flaps, then I slow to 65 knots with 20° flaps and 60 knots with full flaps. If you do it right, you’ll end up in your landing flare doing no more than about 40 knots. Think of what this means in practical terms: if you’re landing on a plowed field (let’s say) because of an engine failure, if you can cut your touchdown speed by 20 knots, you’ve reduced the kinetic energy you’re carrying by a large amount, given that kinetic energy changes as the square of velocity (remember good ol’ KE = 1/2mv^2!)

Short-field takeoffs and landings are different beasts; here the goal is to take off or land within the minimum distance possible, perhaps including clearing an obstacle on the approach or departure. For example, the airfield at Milton, Florida (2R4) is a great place to practice short-field work because there are trees several hundred feet from each end of the runway. These don’t present any real danger, but they make a great target; in a short-field approach, you fly a steeper than usual descent to clear any obstacles, then land a bit firmer than usual– your goal is to avoid any unnecessary float, because float translates to additional distance flown down the runway. You may not have any additional distance to spare. Because it’s late, and I’m sleepy, rather than go on about short-field work I’ll leave this AOPA Flight Training article for those who are interested; it’s pretty good.