August 2, 1998 Now I Understand Why It's Called an Albatross

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by	Walter Atkinson

About the Author ... AVweb contributor Walter Atkinson became interested in aviation at a very early age when his father, a WWII aviator, began fying a Comanche in the 1960's. He practices General Dentistry in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, because he enjoys it and it supports his hobbies of racing sailboats and flying his Aerobatic Bonanza and his C45H (Twin Beech). He has published three novels and over a dozen professional articles in refereed journals. He holds ASEL, AMEL, Instrument, and ASES Private ratings.

What a monster. What a behemoth. What a ride! The Grumman Albatross is the biggest in the line of a fleet of fabulous flying boats. The Widgeon, Goose, Mallard and Albatross make up the Grumman line of flying boats in ascending order of size—and size is what the Albatross has. You'd better bring your forty foot ladder to pre-flight this flying boat and you'd best not be in a hurry to leave. Preparing to take a trip in an Albatross takes some major preparation. If your style of flying is running out to the airport, completing a five minute preflight, kickin' the tires and lightin' the fires, don't get an Albatross. On the other hand, if unabashed fun, power, freedom and a mega-dose of nostalgia are interesting to you, climb aboard.

After ogling adequately at the interior size of this aircraft (which I'd liken to a floating hotel), the uninitiated pilot is led to the flight deck. After passing a radar/electronics bay on the right which is larger than the cockpit of a Bonanza, you must step through one of those submarine-style water doors. Pilot, copilot, and engineer's seats are nestled among what appears to be a pipe organ of levers, switches and dials. The throttle quadrant is overhead along with items such as the Rudder Boost (more on that later) and a huge radio rack behind the pilot, next to the engineer.

Preflight Checklist

The preflight checklist is done by both pilot and copilot after going through a very professional cockpit flow. The master begins playing the pipe organ and the big radials spin, pop, and belch the appropriate smoke, then rumble to life. It's BIG… and it's LOUD. Both pilot and copilot have their window open, elbows out and the hatches above each are also open.

The behemoth taxis out to Runway 9 and the checklist continues to roll. The run up is done at 2100 rpms and everything is ready for departure. As the Albatross pulls into position, a crowd gathers along the fence to watch it depart. The throttles are advanced and the drone escalates in intensity and pitch. We begin a tentative roll, the rudder boost has been engaged to help the pilot control the beast. Huge aileron inputs are added for the mere ten degree crosswind component. As the big bird lifts from the runway, the nose is pushed over and it skims along a few feet above the concrete. The main gear retracts into the wells on the side of the fuselage as the nose gear sucks up into the nose. After slowly gaining speed from the 70 mph rotation and 80 mph takeoff the Albatross climbs out at 100 mph IAS.

Oshkosh sinks behind us as we head out over Lake Winnebago. The pipe organ is being played in cruise. Their is no time in an Albatross flight where one can sit back and relax. There is always something to do! The Albatross circles the lake and begins its descent toward the water. The checklist spins by as the copilot works as hard as most pilots do to get things in order. Turning an airplane the size of a house into a boat of the same dimensions takes some preparation.

Wet Landing

The cruise speed of 145 mph IAS is reduced to 100 mph. The gear is checked UP! A new experience for the uninitiated. The Albatross is headed into the wind and the water level of the lake appears to rise. As it skims across the lake at about 10 ft. AWL (above water level), the throttles are retarded and the airspeed decays to 70 mph, where the chatter of the chop can be heard and felt along the rear of the keel. The passengers' windows in the back are covered with spray and it appears as though we're going to become das boot. The spray moves forward along the hull and the pilot and copilot panic as they realize that their windows are still open. Just as they close the windows, the bow (remember, a boat doesn't have a nose) is covered in a cascade of spray akin to a ride at Disney World. The Captain announces, "Holy Mackerel, Kingfish! We's boatin' 'round Lake Winnebago."

The pilot demonstrates the ability of a seaplane to sail by showing that by cross controlling ailerons and rudder, one can actually have some minimal control over where you're going! Emphasis on "minimal."

The crew and passengers climb out the hatches and crawl out onto the top of the fuselage and wings. There is something weird about the image of floating around a lake in formation with a couple of big radials and three-bladed props—but, trust me on this one, you can get used to it!

After the obligatory sunbathing and photo session (because the boys at the hangar back home ain't gonna believe this one!), everyone crawls below. Yep, "below". Another boat term. Hatches are closed and secured and everyone assumes the airplane position (never seen a seat belt on a boat!)

 All takeoffs in an Albatross should be made directly into the wind. Zero crosswind component. A little cross wind component adds exponentially to the excitement quotient. An attempt at a downwind takeoff can be lethal. The behemoth begins pushing a wake and the first seaplane pitch up comes quickly. The throttles are being played by the copilot in an attempt at using asymmetric thrust to keep her running into the wind while the pilot is using huge, no, gargantuan, aileron inputs to keep the pontoons out of the water. This is a gangly, ugly, almost out-of-control adventure which is easily lost. There is no shortage of adrenaline in the cockpit. The wind shifts and the attempted takeoff is aborted since she can't be turned into the wind at this no-man's-land speed. Between dead idle and fully on the step, there is too much mass to safely turn her. She settles back into the water and the whole symphony begins anew.

This time the efforts are rewarded with a second seaplane pitch up and the pilot pulls the big yoke to his chest. The monster attains the step and the airspeed indicator climbs to 60 mph. A long takeoff roll on the step (we're talking loooooooong, sports fans) ensues and we cross Lake Winnebago like a speed boat. At 80 mph IAS, she simply leaves the water. No rotation, no pulling back on the yoke, she just flies when she's good and ready—and not before. 40-50 inches MP and 2500 rpms and she'll eventually return to being an airplane.

Back To OSH

Back inbound to OSH she enters the downwind and one would think to expect a less adventurous landing on the concrete. Au contrare! The pipe organ's performance is not over. The mains on an Albatross are wider than the Goose's and Widgeon's, but there's a lot of mass here. She is greased on and turned off the runway. The Ford Tri-motor is blocking the runway and we both must take to the edge of the taxiway on our respective sides. Somebody hollers "STOP, we're gonna hit a Spam Can," from in the cabin and we notice that the right pontoon is about 6 inches from creasing the upper wing tip surface of a T-34 parked on the end of the row. This is one BIG airplane to move around and I guess everything else does, in fact, look like a Spam Can!

After her mixtures were pulled back, I sat motionless in the engineer's seat while the crew in front of me negotiated the shut-down checklist. I'm very happy to be living in the computer/information age, but I now have a better understanding of what true romanticism is. This is it. Gangly and clumsy on the ground, but as graceful in the air as her namesake, the Grumman Albatross is a time warp experience which can be duplicated in few places on this earth today.