Pilotage

Do pilots appreciate contemporary technology in light aircraft, or do we prefer the old ways? Is progress something that is foisted on us by engineers and vice presidents of sales? Are we reluctant pilgrims of progress by choice?

A concept for an impressive new electronic cockpit has been making the rounds at the aviation shows. Called the Touch & Go Generation II, it's the creation of a company with the unlikely name of Archangel Avionics Inc. (No religious connotation intended, the company says.) As the name Touch & Go suggests, the idea is to build an aircraft panel with touch-screen electronic displays. Everything is shown on two huge multifunction screens. The pilot changes radio frequencies, selects modes, and switches displays by touching the screens in all the right places. No more individual mechanical instruments, gauges, avionics, knobs, switches, and dials. Just a lot of fingerprints on the glass.

"Too cool," I thought when I saw it, even though I could imagine problems with aiming my fingers in turbulence. Also, the primary MFD (multifunction display, a state-of-the-art term) suffers from information dense pack, and more thought needs to be put into the design and arrangement of the instrument faces depicted on the tubes. I found it difficult to read and interpret, especially compared with the relatively low-density layout of existing instrument panels. Even so, Touch & Go is slick — in the same way new, fast, and powerful home computer systems are slick. It has a large electronic moving map (takes up one entire display), GPS receiver, CD-ROM, and floppy drive, among other PC-like features.

Add an intelligent engine management system that automatically adjusts throttle, prop, and mixture to achieve best climb, cruise, and descent power; an intelligent flight management system that automatically picks the cruising altitude to achieve the best balance of groundspeed and fuel consumption; and an autopilot to fly you from takeoff to touchdown, and you have a single-engine version of the highly intelligent Boeing 757 and 767.

Is this a good thing? Do we want automated airplanes like the airlines? The benefits are persuasive: better fuel efficiency, more precise navigation, less opportunity for a fallible pilot to screw things up. Why, then, is the concept of the electronic, automated cockpit coming under increasing scrutiny by safety experts? The answer is evident to pilots. Flying is the act of controlling an aircraft in three dimensions. It is inherently a physical act. The pilot is engaged in the action, directing it as captain. To hand over the job of flying to computers that issue orders to the autopilot is to disconnect the pilot from the aircraft. A pilot in an automated cockpit becomes a manager, a monitor, a security guard on the lookout for trouble. That may be overstating it a tad, but the issue of over-automation in airline cockpits is a real one.

It's not likely that our light airplanes will achieve air carrier- style automation anytime soon. The airlines are public transportation, where safety and zillions of seat-miles drive expensive technological initiatives such as cockpit automation. In the case of our little private-transportation airplanes, it's simply not cost-effective to design, build, and install that kind of sophisticated equipment.

So, we don't have to spend a lot of time worrying about the future and whether we will successfully make the transition from skillful hands-on-the-yoke pilots to competent left-seat executives. (Rewrites of some popular management books could yield some interesting reading for pilot managers: Re-engineering the Cockpit, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Crewmembers, and The One- Minute Flight Manager.) But Archangel's Touch & Go demonstrates that the technology and materials for a totally electronic, integrated light aircraft panel are available and of interest to at least some pilots.

Automation has met with widespread acceptance when it is applied to individual cockpit devices. Autopilots are old hat in light airplanes, ranging from simple wing levelers to flight director systems with passenger-pleasing shallow turn and soft ride modes. Loran and GPS units can construct long, detailed flight plans and feed them to the autopilot. Electronic engine management systems can be programmed to issue an alert when specific temperature, pressure, or electrical parameters are violated. The last frontier of light-aircraft automation, engine management for piston powerplants, has even been in service for a decade.

Porsche and Mooney got together in the mid-1980s to develop and certify the PFM 3200, a Mooney M20 airframe powered by a six- cylinder Porsche engine adapted for aviation use. The engine is interesting in that it is fan-cooled and drives the prop through a reduction gearbox, but what is most unusual for a single-engine airplane is the electronic ignition. This, combined with a Bosch K- Jetronic fuel injection system, enabled Porsche and Mooney to replace the traditional throttle, prop, and mixture controls with a lone power lever. Only one handle to push in and pull out. Various sensors and a pair of computer chips continuously adjust fuel flow, propeller speed, and fuel-air mixture to achieve best power for takeoff and climb, and best economy at all other times. You can't overspeed the engine or run it too lean or too rich.

AOPA owned one of the few PFMs built, and I had the fun of flying it for a couple of years. I loved it. Although it had 17 more horsepower than the 201, it was no faster and, in truth, a few knots slower than its far-less-expensive stablemate. But I appreciated the intelligence of the power management system and the ease of flying it. It took the dumb out of the pilot when the pilot was so inclined, and left him to concentrate on the far more important task of flying the airplane.

That's not to say that I don't care for a fistful of levers to mess with. In fact, some of the most fun I've had in the air was as a relatively low-time VFR pilot flying a work-intensive (from a power management standpoint) 1965 Mooney M20E westward across the United States. The Mooney had throttle, prop, and mixture controls, and a bonus: a vernier knob to open and close the wastegate of a small aftermarket turbocharger. The procedure was to take off with the wastegate completely open (or risk exceeding the maximum manifold pressure limitation), set climb power, and then as manifold pressure began to drop off on the way up, gradually close the wastegate by turning the vernier knob clockwise. The little turbocharger pumped pressurized air into the intake manifold, which tricked the engine into thinking it was still at sea level and therefore could produce sea-level power.

The procedure was reversed for the descent: Slowly open the wastegate as the airplane descended into denser air. When the wastegate was open, start reducing the manifold pressure to keep power and airspeed in check. To make things even more interesting, the Mooney had manually operated flaps and landing gear. It was a dream machine for hands-on pilots.

Ironically, the "automated" airplane Porsche and Mooney had in mind when they began their partnership was a tubocharged model. A sagging stock market and a subsequent downturn in the fortunes of both companies (which have bounced back nicely, it should be noted) led to cancellation of the noble Porsche-powered Mooney experiment before the turbo was built. Too bad. How I would have loved to compare a new technology, state-of-the-art, single-power-lever turbo Porsche Mooney to that user-hostile but fun-to-fly manual Mooney.