One of the memories I carry with me from my days as a student pilot is of walking to the Piper Cherokee 140 that I was training in, and passing by the Piper Archer that the FBO used for advanced training and solo rental. (Back in those long-ago days fixed-base operators were one-stop airplane shops that offered flight training, aircraft sales and maintenance, and fuel sales along with the requisite stale coffee.) Even though the 140 the contemporary version is called the Warrior and the Archer share the same basic airframe, there are physical differences that set the Archer apart, and those distinguishing features made the Archer a symbol of everything I wanted to be as a pilot.
Two of those differences are the top of the engine cowl, and the propeller spinner. The Archer spinner is large--much larger than the 140's--and the top of the cowl has a bump running the length of the cowl right down the middle, a consequence of the big (to me) 180-horsepower Lycoming engine beneath. To me that spinner and bump meant everything in terms of sophistication. They said to a neophyte that the Archer is bigger, beefier, better than the 140, a step up the performance ladder an airplane for pilots, not students.
Gazing at that Archer, I dreamed of graduating from a two-seat trainer to a real four-place airplane like the Archer. I was struggling to master the basics of learning to fly; moving up to a bigger, faster airplane was just a fantasy, but one that helped motivate me to continue my training. And the FBO's Piper Comanche 260? Imagining myself in the left seat of the Comanche truly was a fantasy. It might as well have been a Boeing. I'd have as much of a chance to fly a jetliner as I would that sexy, retractable-gear, red-leather-interior Comanche.
Eventually I completed primary training and graduated from student to private pilot. With time and experience came confidence, and I began to move up the ladder from trainer to more sophisticated airplanes. I soon realized my fantasy and flew that Archer. The Comanche 260, too, and in time piston twins, turboprops, business jets--and a Boeing simulator.
In fact, after earning my private certificate my life as a pilot began to track that of many other pilots in that it involved chasing parallel challenges, both of them interesting, both of them rewarding. One of those challenges has been adding ratings and certificates. Pursuing an ever-growing list of pilot credentials is crucial if you want to pursue a career as a professional pilot, but the ratings game is interesting and rewarding in its own right. It means you're constantly challenging yourself to learn and master new aeronautical knowledge and skills, and that helps you become a better all-around pilot.
The second challenge has been to fly as many different kinds of aircraft as possible. That quest began with the Archer and has continued, ranging from true ultralights and light sport aircraft to seaplanes, gliders, biplanes, aerobatic thoroughbreds, airships, and helicopters. Transitioning from one category and/or class of aircraft to another, or even to an aircraft within a category and class that you are familiar and comfortable with, is one of the great joys of flying.
Transitioning into a different aircraft calls on all of the skills we've learned as pilots and whatever innate talents we possess, as well as the knowledge we've accrued and the hard-won judgment we've acquired. It's where all of the tools we've trained for and the experience we've absorbed come into play, and where a job well done feels especially rewarding.
When a professional pilot transitions into a different jet, he or she goes through a formal, lengthy training process, usually involving many hours spent in a classroom and a type-specific flight simulator, with all of the training, testing, and checking culminating in a new FAA type rating. Not so for most piston-powered airplanes, especially light singles. The transition process may be no more formal than an hour or so spent huddling with an instructor going over a pilot's operating handbook followed by a checkout flight. Compared to what the pros go through, there may not be a great deal of formal preparation or instruction when transitioning from one light aircraft to another.
That doesn't mean it won't be a challenge. Moving from a fixed-gear, fixed-pitch-propeller single to one with retractable gear, 200-plus-horsepower engine, and constant-speed prop requires an entirely new set of multi-tasking skills.
Whether recreational pilot or pro, I believe that the most important tools you can bring to the task of transitioning into a different aircraft are competence and confidence in basic aircraft control--climbing; maintaining altitude; holding a heading; making coordinated turns while climbing, descending or in level flight; and controlling airspeed. If you can make the airplane do what you want in terms of pitch, roll, yaw, and airspeed without having to consciously think about what you're doing or focus much of your concentration on simply flying the airplane, you should be in a good position to devote familiarization and checkout flights to learning and mastering the new-to-you things about the aircraft you're transitioning into.
The things that were new to me in the Archer included more power and weight, a few differences in the systems, a different panel and engine-control configuration, and different avionics. Fortunately, the basic handling qualities of the 140 and Archer were similar enough that, even as a new pilot, I could devote most of my attention to the new stuff rather than think about how to keep the shiny side of the Archer up.
I think I realized that I had the basic stuff down pretty good when I flew the 260 Comanche for the first time. Despite a significant boost in power and weight from the Archer and 140, and landing gear, electric flaps, and constant-speed prop to contend with, I felt that on final approach to my first landing I had the correct sight picture, power setting, and descent rate dialed in. I had done a decent job of making adjustments in my approach technique to account for the different "feel" of the Comanche without having to dwell on it or be coaxed through the approach by the instructor.
That experience gave me a lot of confidence in my ability to apply stick and rudder skills to other airplanes, and it has made transitioning into different aircraft easier and more enjoyable.
More than being able to recite a long list of specifications and limitations, more than playing the avionics like a digital virtuoso, and more even than explaining the electrical system better than the engineers who designed it, having a sensitive feel for the interplay of ailerons, elevator (or stabilator), rudder, and throttle to make an airplane do what you want it to do and go where you want it to go is the single most important quality you can bring to the task of moving upward and onward.
Mark Twombly is a writer and editor who has been flying since 1968. He is a commercial pilot with instrument and multiengine ratings and flies a Piper Aztec.
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