Unusual Attitude: My favorite aircraft

I’ve got some pat replies—“The one I’m flying,” or “The next one”—and a few dodges—“To own, or to fly?” or “It depends on who’s paying for fuel.” These are all a bit disingenuous. The bond between airplane and pilot comes down to flying qualities—and those elude easy definition. Pilots know great-flying airplanes when we fly them. And we never forget our first loves.

European fliers regard the Bücker Jungmeister as the Stradivarius of its age. It was unveiled at the 1936 International Aerobatic Championship and remained competitive for 30 years. Another single-seat aerobat, the Zlin 526 from the former Czechoslovakia, is prized for its impeccable control harmony, smooth-running Walter engine, swept leading edges, and aesthetically appealing symmetry. The de Havilland Chipmunk from Canada won converts for its superior handling and sturdy construction.

Americans wax poetic about the PT–17 Stearman Kaydet and North American T–6 Texan. They were rites of passage for pilots of the Greatest Generation.

The favorite-airplane question got me curious about flying qualities and their changing definitions. One of the first came from the U.S. Army Signal Corps’ requirement for what became the first military airplane—the Wright Flyer. The specs included “perfect control and equilibrium at all times” during flight around a closed course.

The Wrights evidently met that requirement, although no pilot today would say the primitive Flyer was blessed with perfect control. In 1943, the U.S. Army Air Forces came up with its own flying quality metrics. NACA took the science much deeper in the late 1940s and 1950s, and the U.S. military went wonky in 1969 with a report setting a blizzard of technical parameters.

In general aviation, aircraft control systems have long included enhancements such as bobweights, springs, balanced controls, servo and anti-servo tabs, differential ailerons, vortex generators, and hydraulically boosted controls.

The art of mechanical refinement was on display 50 years ago with the buttery smooth handling of the Beechcraft Baron, T–34 Mentor, and King Air. A Cessna Skylane makes pilots look good when landing in a crosswind or on a short mountain airstrip. And a de Havilland Beaver is a ballerina on wheels or floats.

Stronger, lighter materials and the ability to manufacture complex shapes have improved aerodynamics even more. The two-panel wings of a Cirrus SR22 or an Icon A5 are just the beginning. At the ultra-high end, fly-by-wire systems pioneered by the military and airliners are making their way to corporate jets.

The raw, nervous energy of a Pitts biplane, the elegant refinement of a Bonanza, and the brute force and ergonomic perfection of an Extra reflect decades of large and small improvements.

As for my favorite airplane—it’s not the art deco Beech Model 17 Staggerwing from aviation’s Golden Age, or a wondrous Merlin-powered P–51 Mustang.

No, my favorite aircraft is the mechanically simple, economical, sporty, no-frills Van’s RV–4. It’s an airplane that pilots wear like a jacket. The control stick is in your right hand, where it belongs, and the seat is on the center line. Control harmony is sublime, ground handling is second nature, and the airplane’s versatility is commendable.

A well-equipped RV–4 can take off and land at a grass strip, fly in the clouds, and loop and roll with alacrity. A lightweight RV–4 (ideally attached to a constant-speed propeller) has handling qualities as superlative as a Jungmeister, Chipmunk, or Zlin. The RV–4 also gets 25 miles per gallon or more when flying cross-country at 175 mph.

Connoisseurs will scoff at my pick of such a common aircraft as a personal favorite. It’s like choosing Budweiser at a bar full of exotic IPAs.

To me, however, it tells a bigger story. We’re living in a moment in aviation history when the art and science of aircraft control is so advanced that even a humble kit airplane can have handling qualities on par with some of the most renowned aircraft of all time, and that’s astounding.