This is true, as they say in the UFO movies, because we are not alone. A trainer, heretofore neither seen nor heard, suddenly announces that it has just become airborne from the active runway and will be remaining in the pattern. Depending on the departure flown, the airplane could turn in front of us. We will have to be watchful and alter our plan accordingly. Ever notice how one transmission on the common traffic advisory frequency (CTAF) or unicom seems to touch off a sudden burst of aeronautical confessions?
Such is the case today. An inbound aircraft now radios a position a few miles to the west. Then a departing aircraft on the ground keeps the dialog going with a holding-short announcement. I like to tell students that there's no such thing as a Miranda warning at an airport: This is a place where anything you don't say may be used against you.
We are about four miles out, conveniently positioned on a long downwind to Runway 35. I know there are true believers out there who maintain that we should now dogleg to the right, then dogleg to the left, to re-enter the pattern on a positionally correct (PC) vector. To them I say, let's talk it over in the coffee shop.
Gregg, the owner and pilot of the Mooney, spots and points out the newly airborne trainer, a two-seat Cessna, climbing out to the north. It will pass behind us, no factor. But the inbound is another matter. Where is he?
Right where a dogleg to the right would have taken us, as it turns out. It's a Cessna 172, and as he turns into position on a slightly wider downwind ahead of us, we must allow for the airplane's lower speed on the approach. The pilot radios his position again, and we can tell from his uneasy tone that he would rather be flying into a more secluded place. We answer that we have him in sight and are taking pains to maintain separation. Once again this dialog triggers a burst of answering "bird calls" from the other radios.
When he can get in a word edgewise, the 172 pilot announces that he is turning a left base. Current count in the pattern: the Skyhawk on base, our Mooney and a Cessna 150 on the downwind, and another low-winger holding short. And whatever else happens to be flying in the neighborhood that hasn't 'fessed up; never forget about them either.
Rather than corrupt his nice pattern with what many pilots would now do - exercise some improvised delay tactic that merely confuses everybody - Gregg opts to simply slow down his slippery airplane a little early. He does this with two easy motions. One, a throttle change, lets his constant-speed prop flatten out to maintain its rpm setting, thus inducing drag and deceleration. His other motion is to move forward the handle on the wonderfully simple, manually operated landing gear of his M20E, letting the wheels do the dirty work - of slowing us down, that is. An added benefit of all of this is that by continuing on a normal downwind, we can still make the runway if there is an engine failure - protection that an extended pattern or a circling maneuver might not provide. And so some steps are taken that minimize risk to us and the other pilots in the pattern.
The 172 turns final and descends. We turn base. Quiz time: What heading are you flying on a left base to Runway 35? Approximately 080 degrees. Note that with the wind out of the northwest, the tailwind component increases our groundspeed. Gregg notices the push on our tail and steepens his bank angle. But he is a little out of practice, and it looks as though he will drift past the extended center line if he tries to square off his base leg.
Out of consideration for the traffic behind us, he opts again to keep things orderly by continuing his turn directly onto the final. And now, on rollout, he must hold a few degrees of crab toward the west to keep his final approach lined up with the runway. This base-to-final phase takes him over a wide bay, and Gregg knows that he must also be wary of some interesting downdrafts that occur near the shore on very short final.
But as he is completing these adjustments, it becomes clear that a new predicament has arisen. The Skyhawk has landed, but something in its pilot's unsure tone of voice tells me that we have not yet seen the last of him. Reluctantly, because I do not want to distract Gregg, I briefly mention my misgivings and urge him to remain alert.
Sure enough, the 172 has made a rather long landing on the 3,500-foot runway. Its pilot now has a decision to make. He has two choices: turn around and exit at the only taxiway, located about 900 feet from the approach end, or continue rolling to the end and exit on the intersecting Runway 4/22. Actually he has three choices. The third option is to just sit there. The pilot chooses Option Three.
"Go-arounds are good for you," I sigh as Gregg throttles up, gears up, and flies the balked landing procedure. The Cessna pilot is on the radio, oozing with apologies for being unfamiliar with the airport and wreaking havoc. So I give him a cheerful "Not a problem," over the radio, while keeping an eye on Gregg's rate of climb ("Best rate, please, until 1,000 feet") and directional control. "Student pilot on a cross-country," I speculate when we are leveled off in our old spot on the downwind. Gregg chuckles. He suggests the possibility of a conspiracy between the Skyhawk pilot and me to make him have to do a go-around today. "Good idea," I say.
A few minutes later, standing before the counter in the FBO, we meet the offender, and I am immediately glad that no one got snappish on the radio with him. One reason I am glad is that yes, he is a student pilot-with all the frailty of confidence that this suggests. The second reason is a coincidence: It turns out he is an old colleague of Gregg's and has moved to a distant part of the state. He has recently taken up flight training and is here today on a solo cross-country. He is cheered by the patience extended to him by the nice folks in the pattern. The third reason is that the guy is six foot seven, and he could have knocked us both into our next biennial flight review with a flick of his student-pilot logbook.
We hold a short, good-natured discussion of the situation in the traffic pattern. Charlie explains that between his uncertainty about the wisdom of exiting onto another runway and his doubt about being able to get back to the other end in time, he was frozen just long enough to cause us to take it around. (An experienced pilot, familiar with field and making a short-field landing into the 12-knot breeze, could have cleared easily at the taxiway, but there was no reason to emphasize this to the newcomer at this stage of his flying.)
Heading out again, Gregg and I work in the pattern to the other runway for a little while, taking advantage of the increasing crosswind to give Gregg a chance to experiment with the crabbed and wing-low methods of flying the final approach. We are joined in this exercise by another local trainer, so once again our four eyeballs work overtime, although at least this time the radio is calmer than before.
We say our goodbyes and head back toward the northwest. The arrival back at the big tower-controlled field we call home has its usual share of traffic alerts, doglegs away from the final, and doglegs back. But with the lady in the tower saying "do this, do that," and all the traffic known, and an abundance of taxiways for exiting the active on time, it's a piece of cake compared to an arrival at that quiet little nontowered airport by the sea.
