Full circle

I recently took possession of a 1977 Piper Turbocharged Arrow III. I cut my teeth on Pipers, starting with the Colt, and then eventually adding some time in the Cherokee line, to include the Arrow IV. I then got all of my general aviation multi-engine time in the Piper Aztec, which has a similar airfoil to a Piper Cub, but with 250 horsepower on each side goes a wee bit faster.

The Arrow IV is the fourth generation Arrow, which was basically the Cherokee 180 with retractable gear when it started. The Arrow IV is an airplane you either love or hate: It has a T-tail, which is supposed to look cool, but adds nothing aerodynamically while adding 50 pounds to the empty weight of the airplane. Pilots complained that it would rotate unexpectedly and was a challenge to land because the T-tail doesn’t get the benefit of the prop wash to help it control lift during landing. Personally, I think those complaints are justified. I loved the airplane as long as it was nowhere near the ground.

Fast forward, and I am now a 27-year veteran of the airlines, with 19,000 hours of total time, most of which is in jets. Ironically, most of my jet time (to date) is in the T-tail CRJ and EMB-145s. I still curse the Arrow IV, but I love the Arrow III. I had the good fortune to get some time in one when I was a full-time CFI. The Arrow has a well-deserved reputation as a solid, reliable airplane, and it introduced thousands of pilots to the world of complex single-engine airplanes. There is something monumental about raising the gear for the first time. It’s just…cool. Same with lowering it. You hear that whoosh after putting the gear handle down, and feel that thunk as it locks in place, followed by three green down lights, and you feel like you’ve arrived (as a pilot, not on the subsequent landing). I still get a kick out of it, even in jets.

The turbo Arrow ups the game a bit. Where the normally aspirated (non-turbocharged) Arrow has a four-cylinder, 200-horsepower engine, the turbocharged version has six cylinders, which makes the nose a tad heavier. In fact, it kind of makes the nose feel like the T-tail version, but at least the conventional tail turbo Arrow III doesn’t lose the prop wash over the stabilator, so landings are less finicky. Turbocharged engines work by “reusing” some of the exhaust to help maintain sea-level power to a higher altitude. Throw two more cylinders into the mix, and you can go faster higher. I generally cruise between 7,000 and 12,000 feet, and I routinely see true airspeeds of 155 to 160 knots. The indicated speed on the airspeed is bumped right up to the yellow arc, even at altitude. Without the turbo, this wouldn’t be possible.

But, in spite of my experience, I find myself a student again in many respects. Some things never change: walk-arounds, checking the fuel quantity, and doing a flight control check every flight. But I am back to reminding myself that a mechanic isn’t going to check the oil every leg—I have to do it. I am now visually checking the fuel level versus trusting the gauges and the fueler; I drain the fuel again. I have to program the flight plan into the GPS manually, versus having it automatically uplink from some server somewhere. In the Boeing 737, I have another pilot to help me cross check and verify everything. In the Arrow, I am responsible for all of my own airspeed checks, for putting the gear up and down, for confirming my own altitudes and courses. I’m back to manual flaps versus electric. Oddly satisfying in a weird way. None of this is new, but it’s all on me now not to screw it up.

The reacquaintance with the Arrow has been relatively easy, except when it isn’t. The sight picture for landings has taken some time to get used to again. Even though the RJs and the 737 are relatively low to the ground, they can throw the sight picture off, as the cockpit is still higher. Complicating matters, one cannot just chop the power on a swept wing jet without risking a hard landing. Even after several months, I still hesitate to close the throttle when I know I can make the runway, as I used to instruct my students. But I’m getting there. Practice has helped, as has setting aside my ego when my landings don’t meet my desires (which is often).

The GPS of the general aviation world has been another learning curve. I’ve spent most of the past 25-plus years using an FMS that has a logical and familiar interface. The Garmin 430 in my airplane has taken some getting used to because the interface and some of the logic are different. I spent hours on my computer getting practice with the trainer before flying with it in my airplane. That said, I’m still learning new tricks and nuances, and hardly a flight goes by without at least one eyebrow-raised moment of, “Huh. Who knew?”

Getting comfortable again with pure VFR flying has been a joy. I always said I wasn’t going to be one of “those guys” when it came to VFR flying, scared to death to do anything without ATC to hold my hand. Sure enough, I find myself wanting to fly IFR even when it isn’t necessary, but I justify by saying (to myself) that in some airspace, IFR and the protections of the system are just too good to turn down. That said, I am enjoying the freedom again of being able to take off and get airborne without having to worry about meeting release or void times or the company schedule. If I’m late, I’m late. No harm, no foul. Flight following is great, but there is nothing like the cloak of an IFR flight plan to maximize safety, just like there’s nothing like numerous circuits in the pattern mixed in with aimless wandering on a clear day to enjoy the view of points unknown. Both have their place.

I’ve never really stopped being a student. Even as a seasoned pro, there is always some physical skill or some mental knowledge block or some tool to master that will help make one a better pilot. Learning, especially in a field you enjoy, is fun. It’s productive, informative and keeps us coming back for more. That holds true even—if not especially—when it comes to the relative basics. My airplane teaches, I learn, and we progress on this journey together. As always, I must respect the limits and capabilities not just of myself, but of the environment and the machine.