Life with a Luscombe: Pipers on the Coast

I arrived at Keesler Air Force Base on the last day of September, 2017. It was an unnerving experience. The gate guards were intimidating. I could see the flight line full of C-130s off in the distance and wanted a closer look, but I didn't dare be late for fear of getting in severe trouble for missing my report time. I learned that even my spare time away from work was strictly controlled. The Air Force placed limits on my radius of travel and extracurricular activities. My second day I put in a request for permission to shoot and fly. It took almost a month to get an audience with the commander and receive his personal blessing to participate in such "high risk" activities.

Thankfully, my shooting and flying qualifications set him at ease and he had no issue signing me off. I then got to work and contacted a local flight school about instructing for them. We connected and though I did get some part-time students, it was nowhere near the load I had when I was instructing full-time in Atlanta. Online, I also discovered Shade Tree Field, a local grass strip frequented by vintage and tailwheel aircraft. I gave them a call and they cordially invited me out for their weekly Wednesday night dinner. After I introduced myself and got something to eat, Mr. Danny, the owner, asked if I wanted to see what they had for flying machines on the field. I heartily agreed and hopped on his golf cart and we headed for the first of two large hangars. He pulled the door open revealing a T-6 Texan, a Vultee BT-13, and three Stearmans. I was in hog heaven! The other hangar had a mix of Cubs, Mooneys, Cessnas, and other great little airplanes. I promised to be out Saturday for their sunrise coffee gathering.

The Shade Tree BT-13

That Saturday dawned gloomy and overcast but I still made my way out to Shade Tree. All the regulars were already firmly entrenched in their rocker chairs on the porch overlooking the runway. After thirty minutes or so, the gathering disbanded and people went their own ways. I got to talking with Shade Tree regular Mr. Jerry and once the weather started to clear up, we ended up flying in his club's Piper Colt—a first for me! I hung around the rest of the day watching a few airplanes come and go. They fun started when the T-6's owner showed up to give some of his friends rides. Just as the sun was setting, he asked me if I wanted to go with him for one more short little flight. I couldn't say no so I climbed into the backseat and buckled in. The raw power and acceleration of the T-6 was impressive and I added another tailwheel to the list of airplanes I hope to master someday. 

High Wing on the Turning T-6

After a few weeks at Shade Tree, I finally finagled a flight in the Cub, which Mr. Danny and his wife, Mrs. Janet, make available for at-cost flight training to the local community. All anyone has to do to fly their Cub is pay for gas and the instructor--an almost unbeatable bargain. I flew with Mark Stevens, a fine gentleman who helped me connect with a flight school and the local pilot population, especially those hungry for CFIs. We climbed into Snoopy the Cub and departed runway 17 at Shade Tree for a little air work. Coming from the Luscombe, handling the Cub was a piece of cake. We did some stalls and steep turns and I immediately understood why so many pilots who learned in a Cub love the airplane. We then headed back in for some landings and Mark basically just sat in the back and told stories while I tried my hand at three points, wheel landings, and turning slips.

Snoopy - The Shade Tree Cub

Shortly after getting connected at Shade Tree, I contacted a glider club over in Elsanor, Alabama, not far from Foley, Alabama and Pensacola, Florida. I made the trip out there the following Saturday and started glider training towards earning my commercial and CFI-G. That training is a whole story in and of itself. However, the club's tow plane, a 265 hp Piper Pawnee, also piqued my interest. I started to inquire into what it would take to get checked out in the Pawnee. I was brushed off as just another eager beaver and I eventually got the message, "Show us your commitment to the club, get your glider certificate, and prove you can fly a tailwheel." In early 2018, I got the commercial glider and talked the club president, Emmett, into letting me check out on the Pawnee. After some pestering, we got my three simulated tows done in a Cessna 172 which I had flown in. Emmett talked me through the ordeal of flying the Pawnee with a glider in tow. At first, I was overwhelmed by the instructions but was soon able to build a mental picture of how it worked. He had me do some reading about the Pawnee to get as ready as I could for a single seat checkout—which is part of what makes the Pawnee so much fun!

The Mighty Pawnee

On a clear March day, I finally found a big enough break in the glider schedule to fly the Pawnee. John, one of the club tow pilots, talked me through the cockpit layout and the checklist. Emmett gave me his blessing to solo the Pawnee so I hopped in and followed the checklist to get it started. The Pawnee is kind of like the Stearman in that the controls are all huge and manly. It has just as much horsepower as the Stearman I had flown. However, the major difference between the two was that in the Pawnee, I could actually see in almost every direction thanks to sitting so high in the airplane's fuselage. The sight picture over the nose of the Pawnee is, at first, unnerving. The nose of the Pawnee actually slopes downward even in the three-point attitude. At first you feel like you are going to prop strike especially in a wheel landing. I did some taxiing and then decided that I might as well get on with it and go fly.

The View From My "Office"

I lined up on Elsanor's runway 09 and eased in the power. The Pawnee sprang forward and before I knew it, I was rocketing skyward, something we mere Skyhawk instructors are not exactly used to. Just as I cleared the trees, I thought to myself, “What are you doing by yourself in such a powerful contraption?” A sprig of fear crept into my mind just like on my first solo but I quickly put it out of my head. I had a big task at hand—to teach myself how to fly this airplane. I did some stalls and a few steep turns. The Pawnee is one of the most forgiving airplanes I have ever flown with stalls only having a mild buffet and drop of the nose. I was impressed with this gentle giant.

Heading back towards Elsanor, I set myself up for a landing and made my approach. It took a few laps in the pattern before I really came to terms with the Pawnee’s draggyness. It’s not as bad as in a Stearman but when you pull the power back in the Pawnee, you will go down and you will go down quickly. I also found just how important it was to keep my speed up as close to the runway as possible. As soon as you pull back on the stick to stop the sink, airspeed bleeds off very quickly. You must time the flare just right or else you will drop in fairly hard. But with the airplane’s big tires and Elsanor’s soft grass, what would be a hard landing in any other airplane is firm at the most in the Pawnee. After making three takeoffs and landings, I made my first tow with a Grob 103 hanging on the back. Despite the loss of a little acceleration and climb rate, the Pawnee still has stellar performance with a glider in tow. It felt immensely satisfying to log my first bit of solo PIC high performance tailwheel time that evening.

Jefferson - My Glider Buddy

Life with a Luscombe: Tears and Tailwheels

After returning from my two-day training adventure with Dan in Clemson, I used any excuse to go back and fly the Luscombe. I talked about Dan and his Luscombe to no end. Several of my private students were just moving into cross-country training and I immediately convinced several of them to fly to Clemson for a ride in the Luscombe. Every student would come back beaming from their first tailwheel experience. I was always excited too, since after their lesson with Dan, it would then be my turn to go for a short refresher flight. My tailwheel skills came back right away each time and I was convinced I had achieved a safe level of proficiency in the airplane. I managed to make three of these trips out to Clemson in a two-month period.

I had been talking tailwheel so much around the flying club that I now had scores of people interested. When I found out about the 2017 solar eclipse, I noted that the path of totality went right over Clemson—another opportunity! I gathered seven others from my flying club and we flew two club 172s out there. Dan happily obliged to give rides to all of my friends and we kept him busy in the front office of the Stearman for most of the morning. Not only did my friends enjoy the Stearman but I had also managed to make a few more tailwheel fanatics out of them!

About twenty minutes before totality, herds of thick, towering clouds slowly passed over the field, obscuring our view. We knew our 180 hp equipped 172 was up to the task of getting us up to clear air and so we ran for the plane. My friend Lars, the esteemed editor if this blog, and I took turns swapping controls to sneak a view as the airplane clawed its way up to 10,000 ft. We ended up watching the solar eclipse far above the thick of the clouds at 10,600 ft. It was a spectacle to which no image could do proper justice. We dove the airplane back down as quickly as safety would allow, picked up our other friends on the ground, and joined the frantic departures to head for home. It turned out that those on the ground at the Clemson Airport did get a narrow sliver of open sky during totality, but unfortunately, many others in the general area did not.

Enjoying the view from 10,600

A photo our friend on the ground took

I had more flying and instructing opportunities than I knew what to do with. My college flying buddies were back from summer break and I was making plans to get my glider and seaplane certificates completed. In and around this time, life was going great. However, the Air Force saw otherwise—I was called up on a month’s notice almost a year earlier than my projected start date. I was devastated. I had to find instructors for all of my students and cancel all of my fun flying plans. I scheduled one more lesson in the Luscombe for just two days before I had to depart. I borrowed a friend's Cessna 150 and made a rare solo cross-country flight back out to Clemson. By this time, Dan knew I didn't need to keep beating up the pattern and I was ready for some kind of tailwheel adventure.

Clemson is located in the perfect place for an outdoor trip—just about any kind of outdoor adventure is no more than a short drive away. It is a college town located just a few miles south of the Appalachians and the local area is interwoven with Lake Hartwell. Dan planned for us to fly a short cross-country up into the mountains. Departing Clemson, we turned north and headed for a friend's grass strip. Seeing as how we were weighing in at max gross weight and the strip was only 1,800 ft long, we elected to do a bounce-and-go. The strip was very tight and I finessed the plane between the trees and onto the steeply upsloping easterly end of the runway. Even though the wheels were only on the ground for a few seconds, full power and a proper climb out gave us only a narrow margin to make our escape. We pointed the Luscombe north again toward the mountains and began a steady climb. I was genuinely surprised by how well the little aircraft climbed all the way to our final altitude of 5,000 ft. Most Luscombes came from the factory with Stromberg carburetors and Dan's is no exception. Strombergs are novel devices with no manual mixture control, unlike almost all other piston-engine airplanes. Instead, a Stromberg self-meters its own fuel supply automatically adjusting for changes in density. Our Stromberg showed us its stuff and helped us maintain a 500 fpm climb all the way up.

Our view from Top of Climb

As we continued north, the terrain began to rise beneath us. I was nervous about whether we were going to make it, but Dan was absolutely confident in his little airplane. Off in the distance, I spotted a breathtaking high white cliff: Whiteside Mountain. It was the tallest obstacle in our path and we passed just east of it on our way to Jackson County Airport (24A) in North Carolina. The mountains on our way did not disappoint—I had never before seen such desolate yet featured terrain in person. 

Whiteside Mountain

24A soon came into sight and we made our approach to runway 33, which has a 1.3% uphill grade. While we taxied back down the runway to the fuel pumps, we noticed some spotters on the side of the runway taking our picture. Shortly after we shut down, a pretty white and purple Piper Cherokee performed low passes for the photographers before landing. As we finishing fueling, the Cherokee taxied in followed by the camera crew. It turns out that a North Carolina magazine was writing an aviation edition and a picture of Dan and me starting up at the fuel pumps made it onto the third page! We talked with the airport manager, who was also the owner of the Piper, as well as the photographer—all extremely kind and welcoming people.

We bid farewell to our newfound friends and taxied back up the runway to depart downhill. We turned west and headed for Macon County Airport just a few miles away. We followed the highway through a valley which connects the two areas. The scenery was just incredible and none of the pictures I took managed to capture its true beauty. 

The valley in which Macon County Airport rests

We did a touch-and-go on runway 25 at Macon County. The terrain off of the west end of the field quickly rose to meet us and Dan reminded me to keep us at best climb speed. We weaved our way through a small curving valley which wrapped back around to the main road northwest of town. We passed over the town of Franklin just south of the airport and followed another highway south back towards Clemson. The terrain slowly retreated into relative flatness.

Heading back to flat land

We made it back to Clemson without issue and put the Luscombe to bed. Having to report for duty in only four days in Biloxi, Mississippi, I wondered when I would next see the Luscombe, Dan, and the mountains again. I shook Dan's hand and waved farewell almost with a tear in my eye. I cranked up the little 150 and departed back to Atlanta. I put the 150 back into its dark tin cocoon of a hangar and wondered when I would fly it again. Locking the hangar doors that day was the symbolic end to my three years of almost continuous flying in the Atlanta area. It was a sad drive home.

In the 150 solo, headed home

Life with a Luscombe: Return to Tailwheel Mecca

It had been a few months since I had last flown with Dan in his Luscombe and I was eager to get more tailwheel time. I had also started flight instructing full-time with my college flying club after graduating in May and was greatly enjoying all the flying I was doing on a regular basis in our Cessna 172s. The lessons I had learned with Dan were being passed on to my students who were doing well in the pattern—especially in crosswind landings. However, I knew that I still didn't truly know how to fly a tailwheel airplane to its full potential. I wasn't satisfied with just an endorsement; I wanted to master the airplane and be confident in any situation. I called Dan and scheduled an intense two-day lesson in both the Luscombe and the Stearman, a beast I had flown with him two years ago at that fly-in with the Clemson club.

That morning, I scooted along I-85 in my old truck while it was still dark. Even before the sun peeked above the horizon, its powerful glow revealed a perfectly cloudless sky, just like on the day of our first lesson in April. But this time, I knew the cool morning air would soon succumb to the full strength of the southern summer heat. Dan greeted me as I pulled in and we walked over to his hangar. We pushed the airplane out and pre-flighted. With a grin, he told me it was my turn to hand-prop the Luscombe and walked me through the procedure. Once Dan was buckled in and holding the brakes, I pulled the propeller through several times on cold mags before telling him to turn the mags to hot. I was both excited and terrified at once—never before had I stood right in front of a propeller that was ready to go. I reached up to the slender upper blade, positioned my hands with fingers straight, and reminded myself one last time to step backward as I pulled. I swung my arms down and, just as my fingers cleared the prop, the little Continental caught and sprang into life. It was one of the biggest adrenaline rushes I have ever had.

I climbed into the purring Luscombe and buckled up. I taxied out nice and slow, feeling out the cable tensions in the rudder pedals. As I made the turn to point the airplane into the wind for runup, the tailwheel clunked off the pavement into the grass with a clamor. I was all flustered but Dan talked my head back into the game and we accomplished our pre-takeoff checks. I fumbled my way through locking the tailwheel back into its steering mode then headed off the pavement for the grass to make our first takeoff as Dan called our departure. As usual, the morning started out smooth and calm but the wind eventually realized it was missing the party and rushed in to make an entrance. The air turned into a churning mix of swelling thermals and swirling wind. Oconee County Airport is subject to a variety of wind conditions that can make for a "fun" ride. It is nestled up in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains which channel winds through the area with zeal. The airport is also cocooned by Lake Hartwell which contributes to air movement through its cooling effects. The approach end of runway 25 on the east side of the airport, sports a steep hill that drops all the way down to the lake, often producing strong updrafts and downdrafts on short final. The airport itself is also lined with tall trees, which sometimes act to block wind but other times focus it in strange areas along the runway. All of these factors—the mountains, the lake, the hill, and the nearby trees—make for unique and challenging conditions, especially when landing on 25.

As usual, we stuck strictly to performing steep power off approaches which are, in my opinion, the safest method of visual approach. The Luscombe is not much of a glider and descends about like a Cessna 172 with flaps retracted. Since the Luscombe has no flaps, airspeed management is critical to a good approach. Letting the nose down at approach speed will quickly make you too fast. Thankfully, the Luscombe has tons of rudder authority—more than any other airplane I've flown. This allows the pilot to basically turn the Luscombe into an airplane-shaped spoiler in a slip. You can slip a Luscombe so hard that the airport will disappear from view on a straight-in approach. Dan taught me how to use the slip to good effect to stay above the nasty air currents that flow through the approach end of 25 and then put the airplane exactly where I wanted it when getting close to the ground.

A Luscombe in its element - Slipping hard on final

We practiced landings on the grass until I was comfortable again and then moved to the pavement while the winds remained relatively calm. I was still struggling with getting the stick forward on a wheel landing but he helped me out a few times and I only bounced on one or two. We broke for lunch and went for pizza with the Friday airport lunch crowd. Upon our return, we pulled out the big, burly Stearman. Dan talked me through the airplane's systems, pre-flight, and flying characteristics. We climbed aboard and started up the big radial. He let me taxi out and do the runup. As I pushed the power up to check the mags, I was forcefully reminded of the combined effect of an open cockpit and powerful engine on an unsuspecting pilot. Dan let me take off but helped me out a little here and there with keeping the airplane straight and picking up the tail at the proper time.

We climbed up and I could hardly focus on the tasks at hand, thanks to the blast of wind around the comically puny windscreen. I was also having a little trouble hearing Dan through the intercom but listened as hard as I could. We did some stalls and steep turns and then graduated up to some sixty-degree bank wing-overs. As the world rose and fell around me in a blur, I instinctively patted my safety belt to make sure it was still there. While we weren't doing any aerobatics, the openness of the cockpit certainly made me think that a parachute would have been comforting. Everything about the Stearman was big—the stick was big, the throttle was big, and the rudder pedals were huge! Every control input took some work and a fair bit of movement. The engine's torque was powerful as well; it took some effort in the right pedal to correctly fly the wing-overs. We finally headed in to make some landings.

The "view" from the back seat of the Stearman

When I was little I used to have dreams about falling and what it would be like. They felt so real—the strong sensation of downward acceleration, the ground rushing up all around, and the impact and jarring waking. I have always been a careful person when it comes to avoiding intentional falling. This all changed when got in the pattern with Dan in the Stearman. He put us on a very tight downwind. I felt like I was looking straight down at the runway. As the numbers grew in size, we pulled the power to idle then fell toward the runway. It was about as close as I’ve gotten to falling with style. A seemingly last-minute round-out stopped the sink and allowed us (well, really Dan) to make several wheel landings on the grass. The lack of forward visibility really adds to the intensity of the airplane. You have to keep both sides of the runway even using your peripheral vision. I had originally planned to schedule several lessons in the Stearman but as we taxied back after our last landing, I knew that flying it further would be pointless until I mastered the Luscombe. We got back in the Luscombe after a good air-conditioned break to rehydrate and stop the sweat.

The Mighty Stearman

We did a few more laps in the Luscombe and then called it a day around 4 o’clock. I had plans to drive up into the mountains for a pleasant night of camping. Dan recommended Burrells Ford Campground, a secluded state park up on the Chattooga River in the Appalachians so I made my way up there after stopping for some food and supplies. I made it to my campsite and managed to set up the tent, cook a few bratwursts, and see the river before the sun set. Exhausted, I fell into the tent and quickly checked out.

The next morning, I woke while it was still dark. I packed up and headed for the truck. I stopped at a Bojangles for some chicken biscuits. As usual, Dan was ready and waiting so we pulled the airplane out and pre-flighted. I propped us off and climbed in. Dan asked if I wanted to work the radio, which I did, and so we moved the mic strap to my stick. We taxied out and as usual, I mistimed the runup turnaround and the tailwheel jumped off the pavement. After the runup, we departed the pavement and got to work. My landings were getting noticeably better; Dan didn’t have to add any occasional inputs on the controls and was only giving me a pointer here and there. As the winds and thermals got stronger throughout the day, my training rose to the challenge. Soon I was handling gusty, thermally, crosswind landings on pavement on my own. I finally felt like the airplane was doing what I wanted it to do. We finally called it a day and headed back in. Dan signed my logbook and we parted ways.

As I was getting ready to leave the airport and head back to Atlanta, the local mechanic, Randy, told me about a Cessna 140 on the field that was for sale. I was interested in owning an airplane someday but was not yet ready to buy one at the time. Randy grabbed the hangar key and we golf-carted over to see the airplane. The hangar door slowly creeped up and there sat the prettiest Cessna 140 I had ever seen. This 140 was exactly what I was hoping to purchase someday. The white and blue paint was immaculate and the airplane had recently finished a complete top to bottom restoration. The interior was perfect and everything about the airplane screamed attention to detail. Sadly, we closed up the hangar and I texted Dan telling him how much I liked the airplane.

Dan texted me back just as Randy and I reached the terminal and were putting away the keys. “I know the owner; I’m headed back towards town and we can go fly it if you want.” I jumped at the chance and replied to Dan in the affirmative. I grabbed the keys and headed back to the hangar. I opened the door again and looked the airplane over thoroughly while I waited for Dan. After what felt like an eternity, he arrived and we pre-flighted the airplane. We started up and went up for a short flight. We did some air work and then came in and made two landings. Dan is no help when it comes to buying something; all he would say was, “It’s a really good airplane!” I left that evening and called a bunch of friends on the way home and told them that I was going to buy the airplane. Thankfully, some level heads talked me down off the ledge. It was the right airplane but not the right time.

The Prettiest Cessna I've Ever Seen

Life with a Luscombe: Learning on the Luscombe

I met Dan, the Chief CFI for the Clemson University Flying Club, through my extensive flying with the Yellow Jacket Flying Club in Atlanta. Dan and his student Mike flew to our two clubs’ first joint fly-in in Mike's Luscombe. I was intrigued by the charming little airplane but didn't know or learn much about it that day. Dan did give me his card, complete with a picture of his own pretty silver and maroon Luscombe on it and an invitation: "Learn to Fly a Taildragger!" After my first flight in the Cessna 140, I immediately dug out Dan's card and gave him a call. We scheduled my first lesson for a Saturday in April a few weeks later.

The morning sky was smooth, cool, and clear. Armed with a club airplane, I excitedly departed DeKalb-Peachtree along with two of my friends, Lars and Chase, in the general direction of Clemson. Finding Clemson from the air is as easy as falling off a log; the Appalachians off to the left and I-85 on the right funneled us right into Oconee County’s airspace. The grasping fingers of Lake Hartwell wrap around the airport almost as if pointing to the runway. Visibility was unlimited and we spotted the airport almost twenty miles out. We joined the left-hand pattern for runway 7 and made our approach. 

The Georgia/South Carolina Border on I-85 which lies on Lake Hartwell

As we tied down, Dan headed our way in his usual Hawaiian shirt, sandals, and bushy beard. Eager to show off our ride, we greeted each other with smiles and handshakes all around. Dan kindly reminded us that it was non-standard right-hand traffic for runway 7. There went my pride as a newly minted hot-shot CFI!

David and Dan

Dan showed us around the terminal and then walked us over toward the rows of hangars lining the taxiway. As we turned in after the first row, there it was: his gleaming 1946 Luscombe 8A, quietly basking in the sun. We were agog as Dan showed us around the airplane, pointing out its intricacies while also painting the picture of the airplane's storied past from development to present day. 

Dan's Luscombe

In 1927, Don Luscombe formed a business with some associates to design the Monocoupe—an airplane advanced for its day with side-by-side seating in an enclosed cockpit. Luscombe broke ties with the Monocoupe six years later and started his own business, the Luscombe Aircraft Corporation. From that company sprouted one of the most influential light airplanes ever built—the Luscombe 8. Don Luscombe focused on making his airplanes inexpensive, light, and simple to manufacture. His all-metal monocoque design was revolutionary. With the same 65-horsepower Continental motor, the Luscombe 8 was 15 mph faster than a Piper Cub or Aeronca Champ. 

Dan explained how many pilots consider the Luscombe squirrely and hard to handle, but he painted a different picture—one of an efficient, responsive little airplane that does exactly what it is told with minimal effort. We discussed the airplane's characteristics: its healthy dose of adverse yaw, short coupled landing gear setup, and the less-than-ideal heel brakes common on airplanes of that day. Dan explained the details of proper hand propping and then helped me buckle in for our first flight of air work. 

I turned on the fuel valve and Dan pulled the Continental A65 through a few blades. I recited the verbiage he had taught: "brakes on, fuel on, mags hot, throttle cracked." He pulled the prop through one more blade and the little A65 kicked to life. The puttering sound of an idling A65 is intoxicating—it’s almost as good as a radial!

As the engine settled into a steady rhythm, we reviewed the automated weather on Dan’s handheld radio and I taxied to the runway. The Luscombe has surprisingly good visibility over the nose while on the ground and I didn't have to worry about weaving as in most taildraggers. It also has positive tailwheel steering that engages and disengages itself. To point the airplane into the wind for the runup, Dan demonstrated how turning and pivoting with a brake will unlock the camming tailwheel and allow it to turn very tightly. 

Like everything else about the airplane, the runup was simple, all I had to do was push the throttle up to 1,500 rpm then check the mags and carburetor heat. We noted that the oil pressure was normal and the engine had warmed sufficiently so I tried to spin the airplane back around and lock the tailwheel into steering with opposite brake. Since it was my first attempt ever, I missed the lock at first and we went weaving in slow motion until I finally got the tailwheel to engage. 

The "Office" of Dan's Luscombe

Dan called our departure on the radio and I took to the runway and lined us up. He progressively guided me through the takeoff: ease in the power, keep the stick back. The airplane accelerated down the runway at a nimble pace. Ease the stick forward and let the tail come up. The sight-picture shifted as the airplane tilted forward on its main wheels. Be patient and wait until the airplane is ready to lift off. When I felt that it was ready, I eased back on the stick like I would normally do on a 172—not so fast! We were still in ground effect with barely any flying speed. Dan helped me lower the nose and pick up airspeed until the indicator read 80 mph. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally time to let back on the stick and start our climb.

To call climb performance in a 65-horsepower airplane with two people anemic is a gross understatement. In the cool of the morning we were doing 400 ft/min—this was supposedly an excellent climb! We finally gained enough altitude and began our air work maneuvers. I started to feel out the rudders while watching the ball and was only embarrassing myself. Dan saw my struggles and had me do some rudder coordination exercises. We practiced rolling the airplane back and forth rapidly to get my feet working with my hands. My coordination started to come together but would always come tumbling down when I went back to focusing on the ball. The Luscombe does not have self-centering rudder pedals like modern Cessnas or Pipers. If you take your feet off the pedals, even in cruise, the airplane takes on a will of its own.

Despite my initial unfamiliarity with the rudders, the Luscombe was still a very easy airplane to fly. Steep turns and stalls were non-events as long as I stayed coordinated. We headed for the pattern and practiced some low approaches to make sure I could keep the airplane straight on landing. A nose-wheel airplane can take a poorly executed crosswind landing, but Dan explained that a Luscombe must be landed almost perfectly straight with no side load or drift. Luscombe 8s have a weakness where a landing gear can crumple and fold on itself if the wheel is pushed too far toward the center of the airplane.

To teach crosswind landings to students, Dan explains how the wing, controlled by the ailerons, is the only tool that can fight a crosswind. The stick must be steadily held into the wind to counter it. If the airplane is off the centerline, the stick needs to be pushed harder and harder toward the centerline until the airplane behaves; the pilot uses the ailerons to control side-to-side movement. This applies in the air and on the ground. The sole job of the rudder, on both approach and landing, is to point the airplane parallel to the centerline. The stick and the rudder therefore have two very different and distinct jobs but are used in tight conjunction to ensure a straight landing. 

To first practice landings, we started on the grass next to the asphalt runway. Dan kept me off the pavement until I could tame the Luscombe on the more forgiving grass. We started with three-point landings: a full stall landing touching down on all three wheels simultaneously. I then graduated to wheel landings, where the pilot flies the airplane onto the runway with just the main gear touching first. This type of landing requires some extra finesse and nerve since the pilot must push forward on the stick just as the wheels touch to kill the wing's lift. As airspeed decays, the tail settles onto the runway on its own. 

The idea of pushing forward on the stick right as the airplane was landing did not sit well with me at first. I would either forget to push, not push enough, or push too late. I finally got a few wheel landings right and felt a small sense of accomplishment. We broke for lunch and Dan talked more details on the Luscombe with me and my friends. Afterwards, Dan took both of my friends up for an introduction to tailwheel flying and then I got back in and got to embarrass myself even more—this time on the pavement. The wind had just started to pick up which made landing equal parts more difficult and more rewarding. 

I unfolded myself from the Luscombe’s small seat that afternoon with an even stronger determination to master the airplane than I had getting in. In calm winds, I could only comfortably handle three-point landings on grass and that was about it. I didn't have wheel landings figured out yet and the whole business of managing a crosswind was out of the question until I could get the airplane to gently touch the ground without a bounce.

Dan jovially invited us to come back soon as my friends and I got back in our Cessna, duly humbled but eager to return to Clemson to fly the Luscombe again.