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.
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| 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.
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 Mighty Stearman |
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 |
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