At any given hour of the day, you are likely to find a television show that will teach you how to survive a wide range of calamities. If you ever find yourself under shark attack in the open water, punch the shark right between the eyes. If a grizzly bear attacks you, do the opposite: Play dead. And if you are ever stranded in the wilderness, the first thing you must do is make a fire out of dry wood and the steel wool that you always carry in your pocket—just in case.
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f TV programming is any indication of the things modern culture finds important, then it would be safe to say that we are a people obsessed with worst-case scenarios.
Flight instructors must make sure students can handle any number of worst-case scenarios in the airplane. To most pilots, the scariest thing that could happen is an in-flight fire. Losing an engine would be nerve-wracking, but you still would have a cozy cockpit from which to plan your glide and emergency landing. A fire, however, is another thing altogether. But if you ask a student pilot what he or she would do in case of a fire, either on engine start or in flight, you are likely to hear some variation of “use a checklist” or “make an emergency landing.”
Those answers aren’t necessarily wrong, but they could be better. What happens if you cannot find your checklist—or, more realistically, panic keeps you from finding the page you are looking for? Or what if you are at 8,000 feet when you see that first bit of smoke come from your electrical panel? Even with an aggressive emergency descent, it’s going to take a few minutes to get to the ground—and that’s longer than I care to be in a cockpit filled with smoke or flames. As flight instructors, then, we need to teach better solutions, such as simple steps to memorize to help put out the fire—or better yet, how to avoid causing that fire in the first place.
In airplanes, there are three main types of fire emergencies. I have experienced two of these firsthand, and I will always be grateful that I knew exactly what to do—and was able to do it quickly. The most common situation is a fire on engine start because of overpriming. These fires sometimes get out of control because it’s difficult for a pilot in the cockpit to see smoke or flames coming from the bottom of the engine cowling. When this happened to me, the only thing that alerted me to the fact we were in trouble was the mechanic pointing at our airplane from across the ramp. Well, that, coupled with the fact that my hand resting outside of the open window was suddenly getting very warm.
I instructed my student to continue cranking, and luckily, the engine started, sucking up the last of the gasoline-fueled flames. Continuing to crank the engine, however, is something that has to be taught, as most people’s natural inclination is to run from a fire rather than stick around and try to extinguish it.
There are two important things to teach our students in this area. One: Do not overprime the engine. Doing so leaves enough flammable liquid to turn your favorite airplane into a torch with wings. Two: In case of a fire, continue cranking until the engine starts. If it does not start after a quick attempt, then most checklists advise to shut off the fuel valve and mixture and grab a fire extinguisher. Of course, you should refer to each individual aircraft manufacturer’s guidelines when preparing your students.
An in-flight fire is a bit trickier to diagnose, as it can come from various sources. In general aviation aircraft, the likely culprits are fuel or electricity, the latter often caused by resetting tripped circuit breakers. In most cases, your nose usually can tell the difference. The harsh electrical smell of a burning wire is unpleasant and not at all like the more familiar scent of burning gasoline or oil.
In either case, you must immediately cut off the source of the fire if you wish to survive. If the fire is electrical in nature, turn off the master switch. If it’s in the engine, however, you must shut off the fuel selector valve and perform an emergency landing. Clear out the smoke, if necessary, by opening vents or windows, but keep in mind that the extra air may accelerate the fire.
Remember that with all worst-case scenarios, whether shark attack or in-flight fire, the trick is knowing how to react—and being able to do it quickly enough that you don’t become the unwilling subject of the next survival TV show.
New Challenges: Single-seat success
When you can’t bring an instructor
By Dave Hirschman
Flying a single-seat airplane for the first time is much like a pilot’s initial solo. There’s a period of intense preparation, anticipation, and ultimately a moment of commitment when it’s simply too late to back out. That’s usually followed by a time of discovery about the airplane’s nuances, and a feeling of accomplishment at a successful conclusion of that flight.
For reasons both economic (single-seaters tend to be less expensive) and personal (they just look right), almost all of the airplanes I’ve owned over the years have been single-seaters. And getting checked out and flying them for the first time isn’t as much like learning to swim by jumping into the deep end of a pool as you might think.
Aviation history is full of examples of successful transitions to single-seat airplanes. Pilots who flew World War II-era Mustangs, Thunderbolts, Hellcats, Bearcats, et cetera. made their first trips solo in those airplanes because two-seat versions just didn’t exist. The pilots generally were well prepared by having flown Stearman biplanes and T–6 Texan trainers that, frankly, are more demanding during takeoffs and landings than the tactical airplanes they’d fly later.
The same is true in general aviation.
A pilot who aspires to fly a single-seat Pitts, for example, often gets checked out in a two-seat model first. And the two-seat Pitts usually has worse visibility (from the front seat, anyway), a higher approach speed, a bigger engine, and a constant-speed propeller. The first flight in a single-seat Pitts turns out to be almost anticlimactic in terms of difficulty. There’s less left-turning tendency on takeoff, a slower approach speed, and a more gradual deceleration in ground effect.
In sport flying, the Van’s Aircraft RV series is by far the most numerous, with more than 9,000 kits completed and flying. Pilots who want to fly single-seat RV–3s can gain experience in two-seat RV–4s, –6s, –7s, or –8s. All of the two-seaters have similar handling qualities and sight pictures. The only surprise awaiting new RV–3 pilots is that the smaller, single-seat airplane feels “bigger” in the air. That is to say, its control forces (in pitch, roll, and yaw) aren’t as light, the cockpit (once you get in) is actually kind of roomy, and it rides through the bumps better because of its slightly thinner airfoil.
Pilots tend to hyper focus on a few numbers—stall speed and the proper final-approach speed chief among them. These are important data points, but there’s no reason to obsess about them.
When I was getting ready to fly a high-performance, single-seat aerobatic airplane for the first time, I tried to prepare by flying a clipped-wing Piper J–3 Cub in a similar fashion. The Cub was the only tailwheel airplane that I had access to at the time, so I went around and around my home field in plunging, slipping, oval patterns that mimicked the 90-knot final approach speed I knew I’d have to deal with in the high-performance aerobat.
When a wise, gray, former F–8 Crusader pilot asked why I had been flying so strangely in the Cub, I filled him in and expected to be praised for my logic and thoroughness. Instead, he just looked down with a slightly pained expression and offered some advice.
“Just fly the airplane you’re flying,” he said. “It does you no good to be in one airplane pretending to fly flying something completely different.”
He went on to explain that every airplane has a “sweet spot”—a speed, configuration, trim, and power setting—that results in a stable, predictable approach to landing. Only by flying the airplane you’re actually flying, and paying close attention to its subtleties, can you ever learn to recognize it.
When preparing for an initial flight in a single-seat airplane, focus on the nuts and bolts. Is there anything unusual about the fuel, electrical, or hydraulic systems? How are common problems likely to manifest themselves? And how should they be overcome? Sit in the cockpit and take lots of time reviewing normal and emergency procedures. Talk with other pilots who have flown the airplane, or ones like it, and ask them about potential gotchas. They usually are the best information sources.
Have a plan for what you intend to accomplish on your first flight, and stick to your plan.
For me, first flights usually include a normal takeoff, slow flight and stalls in the landing configuration, lazy 8s that show the airplane’s handling characteristics through a variety of speeds and bank angles, and a normal approach and landing. Ideally, all this can be done on a beautiful day with light winds and little air traffic—but reality is seldom ideal.
My first flight in a Pitts S–1 was off a muddy field in Florida; a Yak–55M was in busy airspace in California; the Subsonex JSX–2 jet was at a high elevation in New Mexico, and my introduction to an RV–3 took place on a blustery winter day in Utah. First flights in ag airplanes including the C–188, Air Tractor 602, and Thrush 510G took place under good conditions, but not ideal.
Fortunately, the airplanes performed solidly with few complications.
In fact, the only first flight that contained even a mild curveball was a Cassutt racer with a faulty airspeed indicator (and no GPS). That took place over an airport with a long runway (and a stiff headwind), so a purposely fast approach and long float in ground effect still allowed an easy stop with sufficient runway remaining.
As an instructor, I’ve checked out many pilots of various experience levels who were flying aircraft models that were new to them, and I’ve never had to intervene on the controls. Any aircraft checkout should consist of reading the manuals, a thorough ground briefing, normal and emergency checklist reviews, and no shortage of cockpit familiarization. If those things are done properly, the flying portion of the checkout tends to go smoothly.
And the era of first flights in single-seat airplanes isn’t over—even in some of the most technologically advanced airplanes ever built.
Every U.S. Air Force pilot who flies an F–22 Raptor does so for the first time solo. The same is true for the F–35.
And that’s how it should be.
Dave Hirschman is an editor at large for AOPA Media.
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