New Pilot

Snapshots of the five airplanes you're most likely to fly.

Training airplanes can come in all shapes and sizes. And while it's true that you can legally learn to fly in a Learjet (no, really — just start saving your money), it's a stretch of fantasy to think of making your first touch and goes in a business jet. As generations of pilots will tell you, it makes more sense to learn to fly in an airplane that's much less expensive, and much more forgiving, than a turbine-powered rocket ship. That's why you'll most likely learn in light, single-engine airplanes such as the ones described here. They're not the only trainers out there, but they're certainly the most popular.

Cessna 150/152

Advantages:

• All-time best-selling trainer, so they're everywhere.
• Tough and relatively trouble-free.

Disadvantages:

• Lots of control force required for crosswind landings.
• Go-around with full flaps is a handful.

Built from 1958 to 1985, this series of airplanes has trained more pilots than any other. Some 29,000 were built in the United States, and another 1,400 or so were built under license in France. An aerobatic version, the Aerobat, was even built. The 150 is the older model, and it uses 100- horsepower Continental engines; the 152 is a tad more powerful, since it has a 110-hp Lycoming engine.

It's a tight fit inside. If you and/or your instructor are on the large side, you can expect to rub shoulders.

Like virtually all two-seat civilian trainers, the 150 and 152 don't offer much in the way of climb rate or speed. The 150 claims a climb rate of 670 feet per minute. The 152 manual says it'll do 715 fpm. Maximum cruise speeds are 102 and 107 knots, respectively. You might be able to see those cruise speeds, but don't count on such sprightly climb rates unless you're flying solo.

The 150/152's high wing blocks the view upward. Many dislike this large blind spot because it can prevent you from seeing traffic when making turns in the pattern. Sure, you can make clearing turns, but those prejudiced against high-wing designs still aren't happy. Of course, low- wing airplanes have blind spots, too. They are beneath the airplane and can be just as bothersome.

The 150/152's high wing is a big help in one way. It allows you a clear view of the terrain below, so identification of checkpoints and landmarks is easier for most pilots.

The 150s have 40 degrees of flap deflection, and that can be both good and bad. Good, because it lets you descend quickly and land slow and short. Bad, because in a go-around with full flaps, the pilot must get with the program quickly. The airplane won't climb with a full load and full flaps unless the pilot applies full power, turns off the carburetor heat, retracts the flaps to the 20-degree setting, and retrims. Doing everything right takes practice, and caught unprepared, the pilot facing a full-flap go-around will be very busy.

Still, you can't go too wrong learning in a 150 or 152. They are great for short- and soft-field landing practice, they'll teach you all about crosswind technique, and the transition to the more powerful, four- seat Cessna 172 will be nearly seamless.

Cessna 172

Advantages:

• Most popular airplane in the entire general aviation fleet.
• Excellent control harmony.
• Trainer and step-up airplane, all in one.

Disadvantages:

• Some models are getting up in years.

With 35,700 total sales, Cessna's 172 (a.k.a Skyhawk) is the world's all- time best-selling single-engine airplane. Though it's a four-seater, many flight schools have decided to use Skyhawks as trainers. After all, Skyhawks handle almost the same as 150s or 152s and offer a great deal more range and flexibility due to their higher fuel capacity (44 gallons versus the 150/152's 26) and cruise speed (122 knots versus the 150/152's 102 to 107).

The 172 is more stable in rough air than the 150/152, thanks to its heavier weight. This makes it less of a hassle to fly on long trips or when flying on instruments.

That brings up another point in the 172's favor. This is an airplane in which you can earn your private certificate, then use to take up passengers, then use to get your instrument and commercial pilot training. There's enough panel space for lots of optional instruments, and many Skyhawks now have full complements of advanced navigation systems, including loran and GPS.

Because they do so many things so well, Skyhawks trade briskly, and many owners fix them up. An extreme example of a reborn, well-equipped would be AOPA's sweepstakes giveaway airplane, a 1978 Skyhawk that's been fixed up with everything from a three-axis autopilot to leather seats. Take a look at " Better Than New," p. 58, to see just how well this airplane lives up to its "Better Than New" moniker.

Piper Tomahawk

Advantages:

• Good visibility.
• Comparatively fast cruise speed.
• Comfortable cabin.

Disadvantages:

• T-tail means higher liftoff speeds.
• Stalls and spins can be hairy.
• Tail shakes during stalls.

The Tomahawk came out in 1977, and Piper touted it as "the airplane designed by flight instructors." According to company literature, Piper surveyed CFIs to determine what features were most important in a modern trainer.

The Tomahawk does have a modern look, and in appearance, it tops the dowdy-looking Cessna 150 and 152. Many pilots like the multiengine- style throttle quadrant and other appealing panel features. The cabin is 5 inches wider than that of the 150 and 152, and the Tomahawk's 112-hp Lycoming engine lets it cruise a couple of knots faster than the Cessnas.

There's plenty of window area, so visibility is great.

Not so great is the Tomahawk's behavior in stalls and spins. There is a tendency to abruptly drop a wing in the stall. The small, constant- chord wing seems to lose lift all at once, so stall and spin entries can be startlingly abrupt. Maybe that's why the Tomahawk has earned nicknames such as "Traumahawk" and "Tomatrauma."

Once in the spin, the Tomahawk winds up rapidly and has unconventional recovery behavior. In most trainers, you can simply release the controls after entering a spin; the airplane then recovers all by itself. The Tomahawk requires deliberate forward-stick pressure.

The T-tail doesn't have the benefit of propwash over its surfaces during takeoff, so a little extra speed is required during the takeoff run. Because there's little elevator authority until a fair amount of airspeed builds, short- and soft-field takeoffs are compromised. With T- tail singles, you won't have the control power to lift the nosewheel off the ground nearly as soon as you can with conventional tails.

Also, the T-tail has a habit of shaking during stalls and spins. This no doubt contributed to several airworthiness directives requiring beef-ups of the vertical spar, rudder hinges, and other critical airframe parts.

On the other hand, very little is needed in the way of trim changes with flap deployment. That's because the horizontal stabilizer is high up there, away from wing downwash effects.

On the whole, the Tomahawk is pleasant to fly. But be aware of the potential for stall and spin problems. If it's stall and spin awareness and proficiency you're after, the Tomahawk's your bird.

Piper Cadet

Advantages:

• Good manners all around.
• Practically identical to Piper Warrior.
• Lots of power.

Disadvantages:

• Scarce.
• Stall is too docile.

After the Tomahawk experience, Piper took its well-liked, bottom-of-the- line four-seater design, the Warrior, and made it into a two-seat trainer. The result was the Cadet. With no back seats, wheel pants, or fancy avionics, the Cadet is a stripped-down Warrior with the same airframe and engine (a 160-hp Lycoming).

The Cadet has virtually no bad flying qualities. It handles a stiff crosswind without much fuss, is simple to take off and land, and has a docile stall. A Tomahawk may suddenly drop a wing and spin out of a stall, but a Cadet just sort of sits there and shakes. It's more of a mushing descent than a full-blown stall. Some CFIs feel that the Cadet's stall is so tame that it makes for a poor training experience.

The Cadet's cowling is hinged in the middle, so you can open up the entire engine for a real good preflight look at the powerplant. You can't do that with a Cessna 150 or 152.

If there are any gripes, they might center on the Cadet's stabilator. The stabilator is an all-moving horizontal tail surface. It has much more powerful pitch control effectiveness than the conventional fixed-horizontal stabilizer and movable elevator arrangement. With the Cadet, the pilot moves the entire horizontal tail when he pulls or pushes on the control yoke. The pitch response to large, sudden movements of the yoke can be dramatic. As a result, the Cadet may porpoise if you overcontrol during the landing flare. Be gentle, though, and you'll be fine.

The Cadet's fuel system has also come under criticism. You draw fuel from one wing tank or another (just like the Tomahawk), not both (as in the 150 and 152). Usually, this isn't a problem. But because the Cadet's fuel selector is down by your left knee, it's out of the pilot's immediate field of view and, therefore, can be ignored by the unvigilant.

The only problem with the Cadet is that most of them went to large flight schools and college flight departments. If you'll be learning at large institutions such as FlightSafety International in Vero Beach, Florida, or the University of North Dakota, you'll be flying Cadets. But your local fixed-base operator isn't likely to have one on hand.

No matter. The four-seat Warrior is practically identical to a Cadet, and there are plenty of them out there serving as trainers. As for their habits and characteristics, just substitute "Warrior" for "Cadet" in the previous five paragraphs.

Beech Skipper

Advantages:

• Wide, comfortable cabin.
• Nice panel layout.
• Easy to trim.
• Easy to land.
• Light control forces.

Disadvantages:

• Lousy climb rate.
• Slow.
• Light control forces.

With only 312 ever sold, the Skipper is a rare find in the training fleet. If you find one, don't turn away. This airplane has a high-quality feel to its cabin and controls — a conscious effort by Beech to build brand loyalty. Get hooked on a Skipper, Beech reasoned, and you'll graduate to their four-place Sierra or four- or six-place Bonanza later on. (The same strategies, of course, were used by Cessna and Piper with their trainers.)

The Skipper has the widest cabin of any general aviation two- seater, and it makes a great teaching platform. The instrument panel is huge, laid out very professionally (no plastic here), and has a nice, high-quality cluster of engine gauges. Throttle, carburetor heat, and mixture controls are on a quadrant.

Though the Skipper has the same engine as the Cessna 152 and Piper Tomahawk, it's a comparative slug. Cruise speeds run around 97 to 100 knots, and the climb rate, while published as 720 fpm, has a bad habit of being at least 200 fpm less than that. In high and hot conditions, beware the Skipper. Make sure there's plenty of runway and no obstacles off the end.

All the control forces — elevator, aileron, and rudder — are very light. This means that with just a little movement of the yoke or rudder pedals, there'll be a fairly big response. This is good for learning turn coordination, but with such light pitch forces, it can be easy to get into pilot-induced oscillations if control movements are made too quickly and too close to the runway. Maybe the Skipper's controls are a bit too light.

The stall is well-behaved, and the Skipper's easy to land. As for crosswinds, the same control power that lets you make such satisfying steep turns and slow flight lets you fight a stiff breeze. Need to lose altitude in a hurry? Cross the Skipper's controls, and you'll slip like a champ.

Aerospatiale General Aviation Tampico

Advantages:

• Recent vintage.
• Good visibility in cruise.
• Snazzy seats, panel, and interior.
• Good flying manners.

Disadvantages:

• Poor visibility in climb.
• Underpowered.
• High power-off sink rate.
• Not much headroom for tall pilots.

Of all the trainers presented here, the Tampico is the newest. Like the Piper Warrior, it has four seats and is still in production. For this reason alone, many fixed-base operators who once nursed a creaky fleet of dilapidated Cessna 150s and Piper Tomahawks have traded these old geezers in on brand-new Tampicos.

A French design, the Tampico also has a 160-hp Lycoming engine. It also has comfortable bucket seats, huge gull-wing doors, and a computer- designed airframe.

That 160 hp doesn't seem to be enough for the Tampico, though. To maintain level flight, you'll be carrying a lot of power. In climb or slow flight, the nose is cocked way up. Descents at idle power are rock-like. And that's just with two aboard. With partial fuel and the back seats full, the Tampico really seems to labor around the sky.

Despite all this, the Tampico is a great trainer, with very inoffensive stall behavior, wonderful visibility, and benign takeoff and landing characteristics. Some pilots feel that they need to carry power right into the flare, however — either to keep the descent rate low or to provide some additional elevator power to prevent the Tampico from landing in a flat attitude (i.e., all three landing gear touching down at the same time, instead of the recommended main-gear-first touchdown). The ailerons are on the heavy side, but stabilator and rudder forces seem about right.

It always feels good to fly something new, and the Tampico is certainly no exception. Its flashy appearance is still novel enough to turn heads on the ramp, and there's the unequaled satisfaction of knowing that the airframe hasn't been through 20 years' worth of other students' hard landings, spins, and turbulent rides.

While it's hard to find anything really wrong with the Tampico, a word of warning about those gull-wing doors is in order: Keep a firm grip on their handholds when taxiing in windy conditions. All that glass surrounding the cabin can make it unbearably hot inside, so there's a strong temptation to taxi with the doors as wide open as possible. Don't do it. A gust of wind can damage the hinges, or worse.

How It Works: Engine Gauges

Knowing what makes the needles move

BY MARC E. COOK

Of all the things a learning pilot must assimilate during those first hours, taking a close read on the engine gauges usually falls near the bottom of the list. Frankly, flying the airplane and acquiring healthy aviating skills are more important than watching the engine gauges like a hawk.

Eventually, though, it seems every pilot aspires to move from the basic trainer to something more sophisticated. And the more complex the airplane, usually, the more attention its powerplant requires. So it's a good idea to learn what the engine instruments are telling you (and how and why) well before you must cope with them and an airplane commanding more of your attention than a simple single.

Arguably the most important gauge on the panel indicates the engine's oil pressure. Even more so than in cars, the integrity of the oiling system is crucial to the powerplant's health. Indeed, oil is used both as a lubricant and a cooling medium in air-cooled engines.

In most trainers, the oil pressure gauge is mechanical, hooked to a port on the engine. A small-diameter line comes into the cockpit and connects to the back of the instrument; inside the line is a restrictor, which helps reduce the amount of oil in the cabin in the event of a line break. Inside the instrument, you'll find a curled-up Bourdon tube, resembling a watch spring. As the oil pressure increases in the tube, it tries to unwind itself. This movement is translated by a link to the needle on the face of the instrument.

Some airplanes use electric oil pressure gauges. This type has the advantage of not needing oil-filled lines in the cabin; it has the disadvantages of high cost and sometimes fragile pressure transducers at the engine's oil-pressure port. In the event of an electrical failure the mechanical gauge will continue to function, but the electric will not.

Oil temperature gauges are also required for air-cooled engines, and most trainers use electrics for this task. An electrical system with abnormal voltage (caused by an alternator failure or an improperly set voltage regulator) can skew the accuracy of electric temperature and pressure gauges. Generally, though, electric gauges have proven quite accurate.

That's not true of the tachometer, particularly the purely mechanical models used in most trainers. Notoriously sloppy and prone to calibration drift over its lifetime, the mechanical tach can read high or low (usually low) and may actually be showing higher-than-true numbers at low speed and lower-than-real figures at cruise. This is one of the many reasons to make fuel calculations conservatively. Many a pilot has been surprised by abnormally high fuel consumption that resulted from incorrectly set cruise power, stemming from an inaccurate tach. Here's a hint: If the airplane's faster than it ought to be, there's an excellent chance the tach is out of calibration.

All of the main engine gauges are required to have limit and normal-operating markings. A green arc denotes the normal range, with yellow arcs or lines indicating the caution ranges, and red lines showing the limits. All the normal-operating marks are based on cruise flight. That is, an oil pressure indication at idle near or below the bottom of the green arc isn't cause for alarm; the same reading at cruise power certainly is. Markings on the tach also indicate the normal range for cruise; there's no reason you can't idle, taxi, and even perform the runup outside of the green arc.

Sometimes, as we implied with the tachs, gauges lie. How do you know? Look for corroborating evidence. Low oil pressure most often is accompanied by high oil temperature (and high cylinder-head temperature indications, if the airplane has that gauge). Conversely, you can expect the oil pressure to fall a bit when the oil gets hot, as in a protracted summertime climb. Watch for trends: If the oil pressure is heading downhill rapidly, there's likely a problem, and it's time to head back to the airport for a closer look.

What if the oil temp needle is over on the red line? If the oil pressure is in the upper part of the green arc and you have already lowered the nose in the climb (or, possibly, you are in cruise), wait for a moment to see what happens. In some cases, an electric gauge or transducer can fail to the maximum-scale side. Again, if you can't see a resulting drop in oil pressure and can't so much as smell a hot engine, it's a good chance the gauge is wrong. In any event, if you are in a good position to return to the airplane's home base, do so soon to have the gauge anomaly checked by a mechanic.

Fears of Flying: Pink Slip Fallout

BY DAVID S. BAKKER

I sat in the little Cessna 150, staring down at the pink slip in my hand. I tried to read it, but I couldn't. It was a blur. I had just failed my private pilot check ride. The frustration of the last few months came to a head in that moment. I was also angry, but not with the examiner. He was right; my performance had been below par. I was confused because he had failed my stalls, which were the only things I had felt sure were OK. My flying had not been great, however, and I was angry with myself. I'd come all the way from my home base at the Baltimore (Maryland) Airpark to Wilmington, Delaware, for the check ride — only to flunk.

I shoved the pink slip into my shirt pocket, yelled "clear prop," started the engine, contacted ground, and taxied to the runway. In my anger and frustration, I neglected to preflight the airplane (it flew just fine during the test). Neither did I bother to top off the tanks (it was only an hour or so to Baltimore Airpark, and the tanks had been full when I left) or obtain a weather briefing (it had been VFR all day). The tower at Wilmington cleared me for departure, and I headed south over the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

During the flight back, the 4,000-foot overcast lowered to 2,000 feet, but I was so preoccupied berating myself that I didn't notice until it dropped right down on top of me. Not really worried, I descended and looked around. Dusk was approaching, but I was pretty sure I was near the town of Rock Hall, my landmark for crossing the Chesapeake Bay back to Baltimore. I called Martin State Airport and was cleared to transition their airspace.

Five minutes later, I was over the middle of the Bay and had lost sight of land. The overcast had lowered farther still, and the sun chose that moment to finally say goodnight. By the time I reached the other side, I had no idea where I was. Confused, I frantically searched the dark for a familiar landmark. I flew north for a few minutes. Nothing. I tried to figure out where I had gone wrong. What if that hadn't been Rock Hall or the wind had changed? I flew south. Essex Skypark should be close by. They had pilot-controlled lighting, so I dialed up the frequency and keyed the mike five times, hoping to see the lights jump to life.

I heard someone in my headset say, "The lights don't get any brighter than that, buddy." The smirk in his tone was undeniable. Embarrassed, I said nothing. I may be a failure, I thought, but I wasn't anxious to admit it to the world. I later realized that while I had changed the frequency, I had failed to switch radios and was still broadcasting on the Martin State frequency.

I flew around haphazardly, looking for something recognizable. I was scud running and lost over the city of Baltimore, but I refused to admit that there was any reason to be worried. Eventually, I was sure to find a landmark, and then everything would be fine. That's when I looked down at the fuel gauges. They were both pointing to "E." How could that be? Wilmington was only an hour away, a round trip should be two hours maximum. With the 150's endurance of four hours, there should be plenty of fuel left, right?

Then I remembered the check ride. What an idiot! I had blanked from my memory all those turns-around-a-point, short-field takeoffs, and stalls. Especially the stalls. I realized there was reason to be worried.

At that moment, I looked ahead and saw an amazing array of red blinking radio towers directly ahead of me. As I turned to avoid them, I recognized Annapolis immediately and, with relief, continued my turn 180 degrees. I contacted Martin Tower and finally confessed my problem. Now that I knew where I was, I had started thinking clearly again. The controller (the same one who had made the comment earlier) was extremely helpful and patiently got me back to Baltimore Airpark. Before he said goodbye, however, he suggested that my instructor call the tower at the Baltimore-Washington International Airport, as I had unwittingly nicked a corner of its Class B airspace. That was the icing on the inverted wedding cake, so to speak.

I landed on fumes and found a very worried instructor waiting for me at the pumps. His eyes widened as the numbers on the gas pump kept turning and turning. Later, we went over what I had done wrong, and the list of mistakes was long. Besides failing to properly prepare for the return flight (briefing, preflight, fuel), I had failed to confess the situation to myself or communicate my problem to the numerous controllers available. Only pure dumb luck prevented me from becoming a statistic.

The biggest lesson was my learning to take stock of my own state of mind. All of my mistakes that day snowballed from flying while stressed and depressed.

A few weeks later, I returned to retake the check ride. When the examiner still expressed dissatisfaction with my stalls, I asked him to demonstrate a few. He could do no better. It turned out he had not flown a Cessna 150 for some time and was unfamiliar with its stall characteristics. He apologized for having failed me the first time. Years have passed since then, but there's one thing I've always done since: Before I climb in an airplane, I always preflight the pilot first.

David S. Bakker, AOPA 1112856, has accumulated more than 200 flight hours in four years of flying.

Practice Area: Visiting the 'Big' Airport

BY WILLIAM K. KERSHNER

Pilots of today use the radio on their first flight, and most are quite comfortable with it after a few hours. Not so with pilots of 40 or 45 years ago; I had a commercial certificate before that dreaded day when I had to fly to Berry Field in Nashville to pick up some parts for our flight school.

I've had a few more anxiety-provoking incidents. For instance, that first night catapult shot in an F4U-5N Corsair, when I crawled in as a swap pilot during carrier qualifications knowing that there was not enough fuel to get to a shore base, so I had to get back on board or swim; or one midnight in Manila Bay, when I was boat officer of a landing- craft medium full of 40 drunken sailors; or having 21 Cub Scouts on a full-day field trip.

The trip to Berry Field required about 30 minutes, and as I flew, I carefully set the transmitter on the (only) tower frequency and tuned the receiver to 278 kilocycles (the universal tower transmitting frequency in those days).

Then I practiced to myself:

" Nashville Tower, this is Stinson NC 9501 King" (an airline captain growl).

"Nashville Tower, this is Stinson NC 9501 King" (John Wayne in The Flying Tigers).

After several practices, I decided on a combination of the two types of delivery.

Now it was time to call. My mouth was dry, and I kept trying to clear my throat.

"Stinson NC 9501 King, this is Nashville Tower." This I gave in a voice similar to an opera soprano singing a particularly hard part.

Well, things sort of went downhill after that as we tried to work out who was the airplane and who was the tower.

Also, there were lights from the tower. I had earlier memorized the light signals, but now my mind was blank. I remember a lot of reds (steady and flashing), greens (steady and flashing), quite a few alternating reds and greens, and a purple and amber combination that I have yet to find in any textbook.

Eventually, though, I picked a likely looking runway, and fearing less the wrath of the Civil Aeronautics Administration than my boss ("Where the hell are those parts?"), I landed — several times.

After I taxied in and shakily got out, the lineman (they are now known as "aircraft facilitator persons") directed me to the office, where the most dreaded words in aviation greeted me.

" The tower wants you to call them."

Maybe they wanted to discuss that short delay in my getting on the ground. (It was no more than 45 minutes.)

Anyway, I called the tower.

"This is the pilot of Stinson 9501 King. Did you want to talk to me?"

Well, yes, he did, but because this was the South, you never burst right into business. There were a few things to be covered first.

Tower person: "Hi yew?"

Me: "Fine, hi yew?"

Did I have a nice trip?

Yes, I did.

How was the weather?

It was fine.

Did I know that airline traffic had been affected during my circles? (Something about being backed up to What Cheer, Iowa, was mentioned.)

Did I plan to take off from Nashville in the foreseeable future?

Yes, as soon as I picked up some parts I would be leaving and flying northwest.

Okay, then, here was the deal: I would call the tower on the telephone just before I left. All I had to say on the telephone was that my departure was imminent.

Furthermore, I was to pick any runway I liked, not to worry about other traffic (the tower would take care of that), and to take off at my pleasure. There need be no radio transmissions or lights; just choose my own time and place for departure.

Well, that was mighty decent of those tower people. I was relieved. Who said that coming into a controlled field was such a hassle? He even wished our maintenance people well, particularly hoping that it would be a very long time before we needed anymore parts from Nashville. I thanked him.

It was like the man said. I made the telephone call, started up, picked a likely runway, made my runup, and took off. I felt right at home because the runway I chose was no wider than the one at our little airport.

On the climb-out, I decided to try the radio again and thank those accommodating folks down there.

I established contact after only a little confusion and thanked them for their support.

The controller said that there was some concern during the takeoff, but the taxiway I used proved to be wide enough, and they had already gotten the other airplane out of the ditch and back on the taxi strip.

He didn't wish me many happy returns.

William K. Kershner, AOPA 084901, is an aviation writer and flight instructor who has been flying for more than 48 years, has taught 433 students aerobatics, and received the 1992 National Instructor of the Year Award.