While learning to fly we spend a terrific amount of time concentrating on “specialty” takeoffs, such as those for short and soft fields. This is as it should be. However, there is another form of takeoff that is practically ignored, yet we do it almost every time we get in an airplane. It’s that nothing-special-takeoff-that-has-no-name. We just put in the power and keep it in the middle of the pavement until we’re off.
Since we make this middle-ground takeoff so often, doesn’t it make sense that we try to perfect it through practice? Also, shouldn’t some goals be developed? Shouldn’t we come up with some sort of description that, at the very least, tells us when a takeoff is good, not so good—or stinks? If we don’t have an image in our minds of what it is supposed to look like, how will we know if we’re doing it right or wrong? And how do we practice it?
Practice takeoffs? What a novel idea! Yeah, it might be novel, but it might also be necessary, because too many takeoffs can best be described as acts of desperation. First, it has to be said that an airplane knows far more about flying than we do. We have to stop and think about factors like wind, load, temperature, runway surface, and a million other things that make this takeoff different from the one before. The airplane doesn’t have to think about anything. It knows when it’s ready to fly. The realization that it is ready to fly comes as a gradual feeling of lightness and then, as if by magic, it just happens. The airplane doesn’t suddenly say, “Oh, please, yank hard on the controls and I’ll oblige you by leaping into the air in a thoroughly graceless display that hurts my sensibilities.”
Given a choice, an airplane will always opt for the graceful, caring option. On the other hand, many pilots don’t. There are a few possible reasons. One is that they simply don’t care. They only want the takeoff to be over, so they can be off the ground.
Another possibility is that they simply haven’t been shown any other way. They have all the techniques and the nuances squirreled away in their minds. They know all of this because their trusty CFI spent several hours patiently inserting the proper thoughts about the applicable techniques into their still-forming pilot minds. But what about the regular takeoff? How much specific instruction did they get in that?
Since there are no actual standards that apply to the regular, nothing-special takeoff, it’s up to us to come up with some. First, let’s form some sort of a consensus about what actually defines a “good” takeoff.
Think back to all the time you’ve spent standing by the fence watching airplanes take off. How many of those takeoffs were unique enough that they stuck in your mind? Chances are pretty good that you remember a few where the airplane was so totally under control, yet so subtle in its movements, that you felt as if you were watching a bird just trade ground for sky in a thoroughly natural manner. No pulls. No sudden anything. Yet it sticks in your mind because, when an airplane leaves the ground so smoothly, you know that’s the way it’s supposed to be done. It makes you feel good just watching it.
Why don’t we make the same kind of takeoffs ourselves—every time? We don’t because no one has told us exactly what it is about that kind of takeoff that makes them feel so right. What techniques do we need to learn? What procedures apply?
There are no tricky techniques to apply. To make that kind of takeoff, all that is necessary is for you to capitalize on the fact that the airplane knows more about flying than you do—and realize that your job is to help it do its thing. All you have to do is set up a situation in which the ingredients of flight are allowed to come together in such a way that the forces of nature interact and spontaneously create flight. With no help from anyone, lift is generated that is sufficient to overcome gravity.
Central to the situation described is an understanding of lift. And central to that is an understanding of how angle of attack and airspeed relate to one another.
For a given angle of attack, there is one indicated airspeed that will generate lift in excess of the airplane’s weight, regardless of what other environmental factors may exist. However, it is not necessary that the pilot know any of those factors (temperature, pressure, et cetera). All you need to know is that, if you hold a consistent, slightly nose-up attitude (positive angle of attack), the airplane will accelerate to an unknown speed at which every factor having to do with the takeoff will be satisfied and the airplane will leave the ground. Further, it will have a decidedly positive climb rate and it will be a seamless, graceful entry into the sky.
If there is any technique at all involved in this kind of takeoff, it is a simple one that is based on understanding how increasing airspeed affects the efficiency of control surfaces.
Early in the takeoff roll, as soon as the elevator has enough effectiveness, bring the nose up far enough that the nosewheel is barely clear of the ground—and keep it there. However, to hold a consistent angle, you must compensate for the effectiveness of the elevator, which increases as the speed builds. As the airplane accelerates, the tail becomes more effective, and the elevator tries to bring up the nose farther—without moving the control yoke. But we don’t want this. We want a stable angle of attack, so the elevator must be relaxed as the speed increases (assuming a nosewheel airplane).
During most of the takeoff roll, you are fixating on the far end of the runway and using it to judge the airplane’s nose attitude. As the speed increases, the nose will try to climb above the reference point. So you release just a hair of back-pressure. The nose stabilizes. Then, almost immediately, as speed continues to increase, the nose tries to rise again, so more back-pressure is released. Little by little, as the airplane accelerates, you are slowly releasing back-pressure to keep the nose at exactly the attitude you initially selected. Fight the urge to let the airplane rise at the last second, and instead trade lift for speed that will benefit you in the soon-to-come climb.
Other than controlling the nose attitude and keeping the airplane on the centerline, you don’t pay attention to anything else. Regardless of the temperature, the load, the humidity—or whatever else—at that low angle of attack, the airplane will not leave the ground until it reaches a speed that it is happy with. That speed will be far enough above stall speed that you and the airplane will be totally safe and not affected by typical gust spreads. If severe gusts or high crosswinds exist, other techniques apply and safety/control concerns supersede being graceful.
When we master the kind of takeoff in which the airplane actually makes the final decision, not the pilot, we’ve stepped over one of the lines that separate the normal pilot from a true aviator. The former just wants the airplane off the ground, while the latter wants the takeoff to be another maneuver that demonstrates his skill at managing three-dimensional nuances. At the same time, it increases safety and brings a smile to him, the airplane, and those watching.
The best takeoffs are those that are so smooth, they surprise us. This is where flying becomes an art and the tao of flight begins.
Related Articles
