Pilotage

Mark R. Twombly is a professional pilot, recreational diver, and would-be boat owner.

Dangerous notions have been creeping into my consciousness lately. I've been thinking of buying a boat.

A boat — a solid, seaworthy craft, one capable of running offshore for a Saturday scuba adventure and then fishing the back bay on Sunday — will cost a few bucks. Such a boat thrives on regular use. It will demand attentive maintenance. Periodic equipment upgrades should keep it reasonably contemporary — and me reasonably competitive during the many dock-boating sessions sure to occur.

Substitute "hangar flying" for "dock boating" and it all begins to sound a lot like owning an airplane.

Dangerous thinking about buying a boat is an indirect result of living without my airplane for a few months. It's been in the hands of our 1,000-mile-distant partner, Doug, in Kansas City, Missouri. I've had to live vicariously through his stories of trouble-free flying with our new Garmin 430, GDL-49 Nexrad weather datalink, Stormscope, alternators, and electric tachometers.

Being without the airplane has left me without my escape from ground-bound pressures. It means I must rent to fly, and the result is that, not counting my professional gigs, I fly less. Flying less has opened the door to even more dangerous thoughts than buying a boat. I've had a few weak moments when I've thought about getting out of our airplane partnership.

The problem is my need for a transportation airplane. It's not as great as it once was, and that makes it more difficult to justify the expense of owning, even in a partnership.

It's a common scenario with airplane owners. Things change. Family and work situations evolve, and that evolution can alter the rationale for owning and operating an airplane, especially one used primarily for transportation.

When I bought into the partnership I was flying a lot on business — to Kansas City, Washington, D.C., Oklahoma City, and Atlanta, among other destinations. In terms of efficient performance, the Piper Twin Comanche was tailor-made for such missions — 160 knots true airspeed on about 17-gallons-per-hour-average block-to-block fuel consumption, with multiengine peace of mind. The cabin is small compared to some other piston twins, but in my case it hasn't been an issue. Most of my flying has been with just me, myself, and I.

I have wished for tip tanks to extend the airplane's not-quite-four-hours IFR endurance but, Max Conrad notwithstanding (his many record-setting long-distance flights in Pipers, including Twin Comanches, earned him the nickname "the flying grandfather"), long-range flying is best left to those with more youthful bladders. Besides, I can always use more landing practice in the Twin Comanche.

Now I find I'm not making as many business trips, for a variety of reasons. Time — a deficiency of it — leads the list. As my computer face time has increased, there has been a commensurate decrease in time available to fly. Unfortunately, it's easy to rationalize not making a trip in favor of staying put to clack (on the keyboard) and yak (on the phone).

The airplane itself has contributed to the problem. It has spent a lot of time in the shop for various maintenance and upgrade projects, including some of those toys that Doug has been enjoying. No ship, no trip.

Along with changing business travel requirements, my personal travel needs have evolved. Living in Southwest Florida completely removes the urgency to escape a harsh winter climate in search of sun and warmth. We Floridians like to do the reverse — escape summer's heat. That is when Doug is in possession of the airplane, so we use public transportation for our brief summer vacation.

Even when I do have access to the airplane, it's tough to convince my family to spend a weekend flying someplace together. My son just began high school, so his attention is focused on anything but family outings. As with the president, my son's pocket veto is enough to kill any travel law I lay down.

Meanwhile, the airplane bills keep coming. Like the relentless drip, drip, drip of Chinese water torture, those bills begin to work on the psyche, creating fissures in what was thought to be a rock-solid commitment to airplane ownership.

And so the dangerous thoughts begin. "Does this still make sense? Considering my current needs, do I really require an airplane — or, at least, this airplane? Will things change in the future? Should I trade my practical transportation for pure fun — an aerobatic taildragger, or perhaps a floatplane? Maybe I should buy a boat instead...."

That last one really got my attention. Give up on an airplane that is nearing the end of a long and expensive upgrade journey, and that has both practical and recreational value, for the opportunity to spend a few weekends a year on the water and a lot of hours scraping barnacles off the hull? How dumb is that?

This soul-searching exercise is useful. When I begin to think seriously about bowing out of the airplane, it forces me to step back and look at the big picture. Florida is a terrific place to own an airplane because of the many good airports and destinations throughout the state. And the many Bahamian and Caribbean islands within easy and safe reach of a light twin are an alluring draw for this scuba diver.

We've spent the money and time to create a great and capable airplane. Even if I wanted to give up on ownership, it's a lousy market to sell.

Finally, if I did want to get back into a partnership, I'd have a tough time finding such compatible partners as I now enjoy.

I've decided on the only sensible prescription for dangerous thinking. I'm not going to give up my stake in the airplane, but I am going to go ahead and buy a boat. Used, nothing fancy. I want to test the truth of that old cliché that says the two happiest days in my boating life will be the day I buy it, and the day I sell it. I've never heard a former airplane owner say that.