| by |
John Deakin |
 |
|
|
| About the Author ... |
|
John Deakin is a 35,000-hour pilot who worked his way up the aviation food chain
via charter, corporate, and cargo flying; spent five years in Southeast Asia
with Air America; 33 years with Japan Airlines, mostly as a 747 captain; and
now flies the Gulfstream IV for a West Coast operator.
He also flies his own
V35 Bonanza (N1BE) and is very active in the warbird and vintage aircraft
scene, flying the C-46, M-404, DC-3, F8F Bearcat, Constellation, B-29, and
others. He is also a National Designated Pilot Examiner (NDPER), able to give
type ratings and check rides on 43 different aircraft types.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It
suddenly occurred to me that I've never done a column on my all-time favorite
airplane! How could I have so neglected my old sweetheart? My logbook reveals
that I have 1,864.08 hours in this old classic, second only to the 747 time,
which we won't count because it's a nosedragger, it burns that stinky
kerosene, and it screeches, instead of rumbling like a real airplane.
Why, I remember the old C-46 like it was only yesterday.
Waitaminnit. Deakin, you fool, it WAS only yesterday, and you were training
in it all last week! Oh well, I guess short-term memory is the first to go.
One good thing about this Halfsheimer's, I'm getting to the point I can now
hide my own Easter eggs.
Anytime I talk or write about old "Dumbo," it is very personal. I
cannot explain it, but then again, I've never understood why some men love
some women.
| |
Click on photo for higher
resolution.
Photo © John Dibbs
|
My first memories of the Curtiss-Wright C-46 "Commando" are from
1949, when I was about nine years old. Dad had gone bankrupt in New Jersey,
and we moved to Florida for a new start. The only place he could afford was an
abandoned Army barracks on the far southeast corner of the Sarasota-Bradenton
Airport (SRQ). It had been a military training base during WWII, and like so
many such airports, had been declared surplus and turned over to the local
authorities, in this case the two counties (Sarasota and Manatee), and the two
cities after which it was named (much to the disgust of Bradentonians, who
felt they should have come first, and who persisted in calling it
"Bradenton-Sarasota," probably to this day).
I loved the place, primarily because it was less than a mile from the
flight line, and my old red bike made that a quick trip after school every
day. By day SRQ was a fairly busy little general aviation airport. The FBO was
J&J Aviation, run out of another converted Army barracks next to a huge
hangar that could hold more than 50 small aircraft (when I stacked them,
anyway).
I can still hear in memory three distinct sounds from my bed in that
barracks building. The Florida rain on the tin roof of the carport outside my
window, the lonely late-night moan of the train whistles as they passed a
half-mile east of us crossing Desoto Road, and a strange, groaning, screaming
sound that I imagined to be a Tyrannosaurus Rex, or something even larger. I
wasn't far wrong, either, but I didn't get to see what made that sound for
many months. It was the squealing brakes of a C-46 belonging to a South
American airline named Aerovias Sud Americanas, or "ASA" for short.
ASA was a cargo line, and had a schedule that often brought them through SRQ.
Legitimate cargo, I might add, no one had ever heard of marijuana in those
simpler days, much less the harder drugs.
One day, I arrived at the airport as usual, and was awed by quite the
biggest airplane I'd ever seen. I knew this was the T-Rex I'd been hearing all
those nights. It had broken down the night before, and had to wait for parts
to come from the main base in St. Petersburg. I never dreamed that I might one
day fly one, and was content to just hang around and listen to the people
working on it that day. I still remember some discussion of the pilot, one Lou
Lehman, as one fellow related that he had observed a check ride with Lehman
flying, and he spoke in reverence of his having "split the runway"
on an ADF approach. I didn't even know what an ADF was, but it was obvious
that Captain Lehman was a true sky god. I never even met him, but I still
remember that name, more than fifty years later.
Growing up in Florida, and learning to fly there, I saw other C-46s, but
most of them gravitated to boneyards, most notably "Corrosion
Corner" at Miami. They always drew my eye, but I never thought I'd fly
one, for they were dying fast and I was still at the Cessna 310 and Twin Beech
level, longing to fly anything bigger.
In 1963, age 23, I joined Air America with a brand-new DC-3 type rating,
with NO idea what I was doing, and absolutely no inkling that Air America was
"The CIA's Secret Airline." All I knew was it was overseas, and it
was a flying job. My tickets were on Northwest Orient Airlines, and I rode the
cockpit of the Boeing 707-320 the entire trip to Tokyo. I must have been a
terrible pest, that night.
From Tokyo, I rode "The Golden Worm," the magnificent Convair 880
belonging to Civil Air Transport (CAT). I didn't know it at the time, but CAT
was a secret sister company of Air America. All I knew was that the
stewardesses were the most gorgeous women I'd ever seen, all from high-class
mainland Chinese families, and all wearing tight-fitting Cheongsams, the
silken Chinese dress with the slit up the side to the hip. I was in love,
three times over. But they were a very standoffish lot, and very few of our
guys ever got to know them.
After "indoctrination" in Taipei (the headquarters base for the
spooky airlines run by the CIA), I was off to Bangkok on the Golden Worm again
(so named because of the ornate Chinese dragon stretching from the nose to the
tail, on a background of gold. It was the most beautiful paint job I've ever
seen on any airplane). By this time I knew that CAT and Air America were
somehow related, and I tore myself away from the visions in the cabin to spend
most of the flight in the cockpit, talking to the "Old China Hands"
flying it. I think Felix Smith was the captain that day, and he recently wrote
a wonderful book, "China Pilot."
After an overnight in Bangkok, I proceeded to the Don Muang Airport to
catch a lift to my new duty station in Vientiane, Laos. Lo and behold, my ride
was to be a shiny, immaculate (but stripped out inside) C-46! At last, I would
actually ride in one! At the time, the C-46 was the ultimate airplane in
Southeast Asia, although "The Company" also operated DC-4s and DC-6s
out of Tachikawa, Japan. I dreamed of flying it, but only the most senior
pilots could do that, most of them "Old China Hands." The C-47
(DC-3) was the next most senior, and I was relegated to the right seat of that
airplane for the next three months.
In one of my many lucky strokes of fate, a captain's slot on the Twin Beech
opened up in Saigon, then the most undesirable station Air America had (no
overtime, no hazard pay). But it was a checkout as captain, so I grabbed it. There
were other good reasons to get out of Vientiane, but we won't go into
those here. This was late 1963, and little did anyone realize that Saigon
would soon be "in the news." It wasn't long before C-46s and C-47s
were moved into Saigon to support the growing conflict, and "The
Company" went on a huge hiring spree to fill the seats. This created
opportunities for me, and after brief tours in other airplanes, I got to fly
the C-47 as captain for a year or so, and finally got the seat of my dreams in
a C-46, checking out as captain on June 10, 1965. The first time I sat down in
the left seat and pulled it forward, I was at home, for the 1,000 hours of
Twin Beech time, and another 1,000 of C-47 time were excellent preparation.
| |
Click on photo for higher resolution.
|
The C-46s in Vietnam served several major tasks, and many minor ones.
One was picking up supplies in the port cities and large airports (Saigon
and Danang mostly), and flying them to Hue, Qui Nhon, Quang Ngai, Ban Me Thuot,
Kontum, Pleiku, Dalat, and many others. These supplies were food, medical
supplies, clothing, animals
for food and breeding stock, concrete and perforated steel planking (PSP)
for airport runways and ramps. One common food was bulgur wheat, a very
nutritious food. But the indigenous people wouldn't eat the stuff, would
rather starve to death, so most of that was wasted, or fed to animals.
Another common mission was to evacuate villagers from one area, and
relocate them to another. The press of the day made a huge deal of this,
crying about the mean old USA uprooting folks from their homes, but the
reality was that those folks were fighting to get on the airplanes, and more
than once we had to resort to violence to stem the human tide fighting their
way up the ladder. The C-46 was usually fitted to haul about 40 people in a
normal passenger configuration in the USA, but all of us had well over 100, in
real panic evacuations. Most of the evacuees knew they wouldn't survive the
night if they didn't get out.
All the up-country strips were considered "hot," and we had
several standard techniques to minimize the risk of friendly and enemy fire.
Friendly? Sure, many of the kids carrying guns were straight out of the
jungle, and had NO idea what those things were that were flying around, and it
was great sport to shoot at them. There were often US Army Special Forces
"A Teams" at these airports, and more than once one of them would
meet the airplane and apologize for the friendly fire.
We would arrive at 3,000 feet agl over the strips (which were almost always
3,600 feet long, and 3,600 feet above sea level, 100 degrees, and often wet
from recent rain) and spiral down in very tight turns with about 45 degrees
bank, just a few knots above the stall. Time it just right on a very close,
tight base and final, and plop the airplane in the first 50 feet of the
runway, fully stalled, three point, and often slip and slide right to the end
of the runway. With a nice dry runway, and good braking, the C-46 would stop
in about 1,200 feet, but we didn't get those very often, with morning dew, or
tropical rain in the afternoons. Very hot asphalt can be pretty slickery, too!
Takeoff almost always involved a steep turn right at liftoff, and a tight
circle while gaining altitude to about 3,000 feet before proceeding on course.
A few didn't believe in doing that, and some of them didn't survive.
The grand old C-46 took all that in stride, and treated me very well. With
no weather reporting, few navaids (the airplanes had ADF, but there were very
few ground stations), and no brains, we cheerfully flew through any type of
weather, including the big wet thunderstorms so common there. Since the C-46
is not pressurized, and has many leaky cockpit windows, there was usually more
rain inside than out, and ponchos draped over the crew and the console were
normal.
By my final C-46 flight on December 6, 1966, I had 1,548 happy hours on old
Dumbo, and thought I had left her behind forever as I left Saigon to move to
Tachikawa, Japan, and the larger four-engine DC-4.
| |
Click on photo for higher resolution
image.
|
Now we fast-forward to late 1995, and early 1996. I've long been a regular
on Compuserve's AVSIG Forum, and during that time frame, a fellow named Randy
Sohn joined the forum. It quickly became apparent that we had crossed paths in
Tachikawa, as he'd flown KC-97s through there in the late sixties, and had
seen the immaculate, polished aluminum, often unmarked DC-4s and C-46s there.
It quickly came out that I had flown and instructed in C-46s, and still
thought of them as my all-time favorite airplane. Randy is a longtime member
of the Confederate Air Force, and served as Chief Check Pilot for many
decades. He sorta mentioned that I just might be interested in visiting the
Southern California Wing of the CAF in Camarillo CA (CMA), where they seemed
to be a mite short of pilots for a flying C-46! In 1996! Good grief!
I was there in short order, drooling all over the airplane. On March 10,
1996, almost 30 years after last flying one, I took to the air again in my
beloved old steed, with the legendary Noel Merrill Wien in the right seat as
instructor. It was as if I'd never been out of the seat, and the memories just
came flooding back. One of the highest compliments I've ever had in my life
was right after the first takeoff, when Merrill turned to the guy in the
jumpseat and said, "I think we got us a C-46 captain, here!"
Within a few months I was back in the saddle again, flying, instructing,
and giving check rides in "Old Dumbo," just as before. It was like
falling in love with an old school sweetheart all over again. We're both a lot
older, a lot creakier, and we don't do any of the wild and wooly things we
used to do together. Don't tell anyone, but there's a lot of silly
sentimentality I try to hide. One of my first trips was to the Watsonville
show, and on the way back I flew down the relatively unpopulated valleys
inland from Santa Barbara. It looked JUST like Vietnam there for a short time,
but perhaps I didn't see it too well, there was something in my eyes.
At airshows, I'll often have the privilege of watching an old gent climb
into the cockpit, and somehow I'll just know that he flew them, long ago. I
try to leave these men alone with their memories, good and bad.
Folks, I apologize for running on and on about myself, this is about the
C-46. But there is a long and very personal history here, and I guess my
fingers ran away with that.
| |
Click on photos for higher resolution
images.
Photo © John Dibbs
|
N53594 is now known as "China Doll" (renamed from "Humpty-Dumpty.".
The nickname refers to the nose art, a scantily-clad young oriental lady
painted by one of the Wing's wives.
That painting gets a lot of favorable attention from the men at shows, and
fairly frequent pot-shots from some of the modern females who are quite
offended. It's odd, but the ones who seem to be the loudest and most offended
are usually the fattest and ugliest ones. Human nature, I guess.
Alas, political correctness raises its head everywhere, and we take heat on
two major issues. The first is the name, "Confederate Air Force."
This started forty years ago, when a couple of good old boys in Texas acquired
a couple of surplus fighters, and someone spray-painted those words on one as
a joke. The name stuck, and the organization grew into one of the premier
aviation museums in the world, with over 140 airplanes from WWII, about 120 of
them flying. But the name has negative connotations to some, and has cost the
CAF a lot of money that might have been donated. Most of us have grown very
weary of explaining to potential members and donors that the name has nothing
to do with race, slavery, segregation, or bigotry. Very few are convinced, so
it will finally be changed later this year. I'm deeply sorry to see the name
go, but go it must if we are to survive.
The other issue is the lady on the nose of our C-46, and as far as I'm
concerned, may she live forever. We all get a kick out of the occasional
outrage at airshows.
My sweetie (no, the airplane, silly!) is a 1945 model C-46F that never got
outside the USA, except for a brief time in the Caribbean. Like all C-46s, it
was delivered to the military, for no civilian C-46 was ever built.
The aircraft was rushed into production for the war effort, without being
properly tested, leaving 20-year-old fledgling pilots to do the real test
flying. The results were not pretty, and many were lost, gaining the airplane
a somewhat undeserved evil reputation. Many made the mistake of thinking it
was nothing more than a big C-47, until they tried to fly it. There were early
problems with the heaters, which had an unfortunate tendency to blow up, and
with the Curtiss Electric props, which were not well understood. Today, the
FAA will not allow Curtiss Electric props on anything, unless it is the only
possible configuration, and then only with an Experimental Certificate.
Later, N53594 was sold as surplus, later passing through a number of
rinky-dink airlines and operators, ending up as a bug sprayer, with huge tanks
in the cabin, holes chopped in the sides, and wingtip-to-wingtip spray booms
underneath (we can still smell the malathion when we open the door after she's
been closed up for awhile). After that, it sat derelict for a time, and the
CAF bought it in 1981.
The Southern California Wing volunteers have been restoring it ever since,
and it just keeps getting better. I get to work on it once in while when no
one is looking, but generally, they just let me fly it. I don't even to get to
do that much, for we now have a great roster of pilots, and I mostly instruct
and check in it. As Randy might say, "I cain't fly it worth a hoot, but I
shore can recover!"
It is powered by two of the ubiquitous Pratt & Whitney R-2800 engines,
with this model of the famous engine producing 2,000 HP (more than 120 models
of the R-2800 were built). During production, it was the largest twin-engine
airplane ever produced, with a wingspan of 108 feet (four feet larger than a
B-17), and a civilian gross weight of up to 48,000 pounds (there is data in
the military manuals for 66,000 pounds). It literally towers over a B-17 on
the ramp. It will haul 15,000 pounds of cargo into and out of 2,500-foot
unimproved runways, a job it is still doing today for Everts Air Fuel out of
Fairbanks. They've found no other airplane that will do the job as well. There
are less than a dozen of them left flying in the whole world, out of a
production run of about 3,500. More than 700 were lost on "The
Hump," the terrible supply route from India and Burma into China, over
the Himalayan Mountains. Wreckage is still being discovered, high in those
hills, and families get the final word on what happened to Granddad.
On the show circuit, the C-46 is often mistaken for a C-47/DC-3, which it
vaguely resembles. (Well, it does have a tailwheel and two engines!) It is,
however, twice the airplane. I joke about it being twice the weight, hauls
twice the load, holds (and burns) twice the fuel - and the pilots are twice as
good. That's more than a little true, for while the DC-3 is known as an easy
airplane to fly, the C-46 is widely feared for its ground handling
characteristics. But for those who have significant time in both, almost all
prefer the C-46 by a wide margin. Then again, pilots almost always like the
airplanes they fly a lot, even the DC-10.
Airshow visitors have several common questions.
"Does this thing fly?" "Yes," (patiently), "it
flies very well, we do about 30 shows a year with it, a lot of training, and
numerous photo missions as a camera ship."
| |
Click on photos for higher resolution
images.
|
We also get to do some fun things under waivers, like the recent dedication
of Crissy Field near the foot of the Golden Gate, where we airdropped over
5,000 chrysanthemums at the appropriate time. We had reports later that
everyone at the ceremony left with a mum, so I guess we hit the target well
enough. These pictures are not faked in any way; one was taken from the left
over wing exit on one pass, the other from the right on the second pass. (We
often fly with those hatches removed, for cooling.)
China Doll is also getting more and more popular as a camera ship at big
warbird events, especially at the big annual Confederate Air Force event in
October, at Midland Texas. We fly in the show, and also do several photo
flights. With the jump door and the waist hatches removed, the man door open,
and cargo nets over the openings, we can handle about 12 photographers per
flight. We normally rendezvous at some prominent local landmark and set up a
big left-hand circle with a fixed bank angle. The angle isn't too important,
but maintaining it certainly is, for when a number of aircraft are in a
formation, the tiniest change has a "crack-the-whip" effect. As the
aircraft arrive, they form up on our left, where the photographers in the man
door can take pictures with the ground for a background. Then I'll call 'em to
move to the right side in the order needed, where the photographers can shoot
them against the sky, the favored shot. Someone in the cabin will have a
handheld with a headset, so the photographers can call for "three feet
down," "two feet out," etc., or for a different formation
entirely. It's very intense, sweaty business for everyone, but the pictures
are wonderful. More and more, as I open up the magazines and calendars with
warbird pictures, I recognize shots that were taken from Dumbo.
China Doll went along with the recent reenactment of the famed Doolittle
Raid on Tokyo. Twelve B-25s in formation closed down both San Fransicso and
Oakland airports while doing a low flyby over the old Hornet, the carrier from
which the original raid on Japan was launched. We went along as the camera
ship for that flight, and most of the pictures you'll see of that event were
taken from China Doll.
We're also getting into dropping parachute teams to open airshows. Under
CAF rules, we're only allowed to drop pro or military teams, so we have to
turn down the requests we get for sport jumpers.
Just as in the original airplanes, we have a heavy-duty cable running from
the front of the cabin to the rear, and two large, bright lights in the rear
that we control from the cockpit. We put 500 MPH tape all around the jump door
so that no one can get hung up or scratched on the way out, load 'em up, and
go, often climbing to 13,000 feet or so for the jump. There are a multitude of
FAA and CAF rules we must follow, of course, and extensive briefings so that
everyone knows exactly what will happen.
We dropped a really neat group from Fort Bragg, a Special Forces demo team.
When it came time to jump, we could hear the screamed commands all the way up
in the cockpit. I've tried, and I can't yell loud enough to be heard from
anywhere in back, even with the door in! They go through a regular drill,
screaming out commands and responses, and when that stops, we know they're
ready. The jumpmaster will usually hang his head out the door, look forward
under the wing and give us heading commands if we are dropping from high
altitude, but on the low altitude (1,500 feet) simulated combat jumps, they
jump on our command. On the final run-in, we turn on the red light, and when
we want them to go (or they are going to call their own) we hit the green, and
out they go, yelling all the way. There is almost no change in pitch as they
leave, it's a big airplane, and their leaving has very little effect.
On the other hand, one of the favorite tricks with a new pilot flying is to
get about four or five heavyweights together in back, and have all of them run
from the front of the cabin to the extreme aft end, into the "orchestra
pit." Now THAT will change the CG! (The orchestra pit is so named because
the floor level is about 18 inches lower than the main floor, for about the
last eight feet of the cabin, like the orchestra pit at a musical.)
The airshow questions continue:
| |
Click on photo for higher resolution image.
|
"Is this a DC-3?" "No, it's a much larger airplane, it's a
C-46."
"Why is the floor sloped?" "Because that's the way they made
the old airplanes, with tailwheels, as God intended airplanes to be
made."
(Just think of a 747 with a tailwheel! Now, THAT would be an AIRPLANE!)
"What's THAT?" (Pointing to the right front corner of the cabin.)
"That's a gasoline-powered generator, original equipment on this
airplane, also 56 years old. It still runs, too, producing electrical power to
charge the batteries, and to help start the engines. It was originally located
in the belly, but too many airplanes were lost from fires, so we put it up
here to keep an eye on it when it's running."
Just taxiing the old bird is a challenge. One recent trainee didn't make it
100 feet, hollered, "You've got it," and fled the cockpit before it
stopped. To his everlasting credit, he watched, and learned, thought about it
for a few weeks, then came back and did a fine job on his second try. He's not
the first, and he won't be the last.
There are several problems that make ground operations difficult.
The center of each pilot's seat sits well outboard of the rudder pedals, so
the pilots sit cattyslanchwise, feet pointing in at an angle. The long,
sloping (glass) windshield has a bit of distortion, and the visibility over
the nose with the tail down is none too good. In fact, not running into
anything on the ground becomes a full-time job for both pilots, and some trust
is required. The power brakes are very powerful (except when hot, when they
fade badly) but very delayed. When they do take effect, they're grabby, so
applying them smoothly is an art. Finally, the rudder is totally ineffective
below about 60 knots. Need I mention there is no tailwheel steering, and the
airplane has a mind of its own?
With all this, the new C-46 pilot will see the nose start to swing, and
will apply a little rudder to correct. Old Dumbo smiles to herself, and swings
a little faster, ignoring the rudder like it never existed. He adds more
rudder, but the airplane has the bit in her teeth now, and is swinging
rapidly, perhaps with one wheel already off the pavement. The rudder hits the
stop, and the he finds out why I told him to set the rudder pedals WAY back,
uncomfortably close when neutral, because now he has full rudder and can't
reach the brake on that distant pedal over there in the next county. (The C-46
rudder pedals have the largest "throw" I've ever seen.)
It's not really that difficult, it's just "different," and when
properly done, the old beast trundles docilely right down the middle of the
taxiway with the distinctive C-46 gallop. It feels like flat spots on a tire
that have taken a "set," but the airplane will "gallop"
right after multiple touch and gos, too, so that isn't it. It helps to split
the power a bit to counter any turning tendency, and the brake hydraulics will
emit a soft hissing from time to time, with just the smallest touch to keep it
straight. Oddly enough, China Doll's brakes don't squeal like those old ASA
airplanes did. I've always wondered why they made such a noise. Perhaps they
were made from different material in those days. I've heard the same noise
from the C-97 and C-124, but not many others.
Primary directional control on takeoff is with differential power, a really
new concept to the jet-jockey airline pilots trained on nosedraggers. You
simply cannot keep the throttles together while you advance the power, and
stay on the runway. In a strong crosswind, the throttles will be separated by
as much as six inches, and you might not get full throttle on the upwind side
until long after the tail is up, and passing 60 knots or more. Brakes are
absolutely prohibited on takeoff, it's too easy to flat-spot and ruin a $2,500
tire, so we require heels on the floor during takeoff and landing (that's true
of most of the old airplanes). The remaining aid for directional control is
aileron. That's right, aileron, those big old 24-foot things fifty feet out
there on the back end of the wings. Partner, you ain't seen adverse yaw until
you've flown some of the old airplanes like the C-46. Remember when your first
flight instructor demonstrated that if you input roll alone, the nose swings
the other way at first? That's why God invented feet, to use the rudder and
control that yaw.
The old-timers used to teach steering the airplane on the ground with
aileron, but it's highly counterintuitive, for you must learn to steer it
"backwards." That is, if you want the nose to go right, you must
apply left aileron. With a little practice, anyone can learn to do that, but
when things really go to hell, the instinct from driving cars for years will
come to the fore, and you'll input the wrong aileron, with disastrous results.
It's far better to just roll aileron into the wind as needed, and hold it
there. The control wheel is very large (for better leverage) and roughly
semicircular like most airplanes. It is also located very close to the
pedestal, with not enough room for a knee. That's no problem with the ailerons
and rudder neutral, but the only time either is neutral on the ground is
passing through it. Rotating the wheel towards the pedestal opens up room for
the knee when that rudder pedal is back, but with the wheel rotated away from
the pedestal, the wheel blocks the space needed for the knee.
While I'm at it, let me rail against those who want a "wind
check" from the tower on final, and then fly the airplane accordingly.
I've had trainees try to land the airplane crabbed the wrong way, based on
what they think the tower said! Towers can misstate the wind, people can mis-hear
it, and the wind can be very different in both power and direction from where
the tower measures it! The wise pilot will ignore the "reported
wind," and apply control as needed to make the airplane do what it
should.
It is far better to just crab down the final, look at what the airplane is
doing coming into the flare, and input control as needed to align with the
runway and stop the drift at touchdown. If you do that (in any airplane)
you'll have the control inputs correct, and all you'll need is
"more" for the rest of the landing roll as the speed drops, and
controls become less effective. Note this does not mean I recommend a final
with the wing down, and crossed controls! That's a dreadful technique for
normal operations, although it does have good training value for new students.
Just for completeness, this technique won't do with airplanes with pod-mounted
jet engines (747), or minimal prop clearance (B-29). In those airplanes,
pilots must "kick the crab out," timing it just right to align with
the runway as touchdown occurs, and before the airplane can begin a drift.
We use the "adverse aileron effect" to good advantage for
directional control, usually cranking in full aileron into the wind before we
begin the takeoff, and again as we slow after landing. Think of a crosswind
from the left, for example. We rotate the wheel fully left, which lifts the
left aileron, and drops the right, right? The raised left aileron rides in the
lee of the wing, reducing lift and drag, but the drooping right aileron is
down in the airflow, creating more effective wing camber, more lift, and more
drag. The left crosswind tends to hit the tail and weathervane the nose left,
but that dragging aileron pulls the right wingtip back, partially offsetting
the wind. So the takeoff in a left crosswind begins with full right rudder,
full left aileron, and leading left throttle. As the airspeed picks up, and
the tail comes up, the aileron is allowed to blow back towards neutral (or a
wheel will lift off), the trailing throttle can be slowly equalized, and last,
the rudder can be relaxed. In reality, it's a lot "busier" than
that, but that's the idea.
On a crosswind landing, the process is reversed. Touchdown is made on the
main gear, tail-low, power off. Then the real work begins, as rudder effect is
lost. Very quickly, new C-46 pilots learn that those little wussy rudder
movements they usually use in other aircraft just won't do the job in this
one! They have to immediately shift into a "BIG RUDDER MODE."
Usually, when rudder is needed, you'd best just slam that pedal to the stop,
and hope it's enough. As the speed drops, more aileron is applied into the
wind, and if necessary, a touch of power is added on the upwind side. Easy, it
just takes a little getting used to. Okay, okay, a lot of getting used to.
The new C-46 pilot really has a problem on landings because he's sitting so
crooked, and there's nothing to align with the runway. Things tend to happen
rather fast in the flare, so I brief, "If you hear me say, 'more right
rudder,' it means that you still have some drift, and you really, really need
to get more rudder in, and also correct with some left aileron."
If you touch down with anything more than a slight crab in a C-46, you're
going to get a very violent swerve, in the worst possible direction, into the
wind. Picture that left crosswind again, which will mean you're crabbing to
the right down final, nose left, to stay aligned with the runway (the center
of the runway, please). The main gear touches down, and instantly tries to
carry the airplane to the left, while the mass of the airplane wants to prove
Newton's laws of motion, and go straight. The crosswind only adds to that, and
it doesn't take a lot of crab at touchdown to simply lose the airplane. Sod or
dirt runways make all this a LOT easier as the tires slide a little, but we
rarely see one, all are hard-surface, sadly.
Contrast this with a jet transport, which can be landed in a full crab with
impunity. Old Isaac's rules apply again, but this time, with the center of
mass forward of the main gear, the nose swings nicely into alignment, entirely
by itself (not good airmanship, of course, but it does work). Why, with the
little rudder they need, I'm surprised the boys and girls who fly those
kerosene stinkpots have the strength in their legs to walk! I've even heard
that Airbus Industries is trying to adopt the Ercoupe controls to the Airbii
line, hoping to do away with rudder pedals entirely. Maybe just one big brake
pedal, "stomp for stop." You'll see this as soon as the authorities
declare the inventor of the Ercoupe was French.
The C-46 three-points wonderfully, and it's very impressive to see this big
machine do that. But none of us get enough practice to do it well, so we cheat
and touch down on the main gear, as policy. A botched three-point is much
harder on the airplane than a botched wheel landing. The guys at Everts will
laugh, for they do nothing but three-points - a dozen times a day, or more, so
all this stuff comes naturally to them without even thinking about it.
Inflight, the C-46 becomes quite the normal airplane, if a bit heavy on the
controls. Early models had hydraulic boost on some of the control surfaces,
but those systems were complex for their time, failure-prone, and oddly
enough, the controls were even heavier with hydraulics normal. With the boost
off, the controls felt like they were set in concrete. The F model was made
with "spring tabs," (aka "Flying tabs") and is much
lighter on the controls. Many of the earlier ones were converted at one time
or another.
Clean stall, gross weight (48,000), power off, is around 79 knots, and full
flap stall at max landing weight (46,800) is about 10 knots less. Our old rule
was one knot per 2,000 pounds. Using some power dramatically reduces stalling
speed, and while the airspeed indicator is probably not too accurate in that
range, we'll see 55 knots or less with a full-flap, lightweight, "some
power on" stall. A full stall will produce a heavy buffet, and a straight
nose drop, and recovery is very conventional. As in most airplanes, don't use
ailerons in the stall, due to the adverse yaw effects.
Since we usually fly with the overwing exits out for maximum crew cooling,
there is another unintended but very effective stall warning system few folks
have seen before. At the stall, the "bubble" of low pressure air
above the wing rises to the level of the waist hatch, and creates a very
strong suction, and all ears will pop from the sudden drop in pressure.
Because ground handling is so difficult, we rarely get to do touch and gos,
although the airplane certainly does them well. Pull the flaps up, set the
trim, and go. But trainees need the practice at keeping the airplane on the
runway during the takeoff roll, and even more so on the landing roll, so
virtually all our landings are full-stop.
There were never any certified V-speeds on normal C-46s. No "blue
line," no Vmc, V1, V2, Vx, Vy, etc. Many chief pilots couldn't live with
this, so they conducted their own rough testing, and picked some speeds that
worked well enough, and with which they could browbeat trainees and checkees.
But anyone who uses them is kidding himself, and possibly developing a
dangerous thought process. Having published "V-speeds" also means
that a "V1 cut" is required on check rides, and I've had quite
enough excitement in airplanes, thank you very much, we don't do those,
anymore. Without published V-speeds, the FAA does not allow even the simulated
failure of an engine in flight below 500 feet on a check ride.
The old manuals usually call for a "minimum safe single engine
speed," and it's generally around 95 knots, or "close enough,"
and that's what we use.
(Some C-46s were heavily modified, and certified under the old CAR 4b for
transports (Everts has one working on a Part 121 operation, today!) Those do
have true V1 and V2 speeds, along with appropriate charts. Those speeds are
NOT good to use in the unmodified aircraft.)
Under CAF and FAA rules, we use full rated power (2,000 HP, 52", 2700
RPM) on ALL takeoffs, regardless of weight, a
very good idea in ALL piston-powered airplanes.
With just a little help with forward elevator, the tail wants to come up
around 40 knots or so, and with a little experience, we learn and hold a fixed
attitude, slightly tail-low.
Somewhere around 80 knots the airplane obviously wants to fly, and we let
it do so, holding the attitude at which it lifts off. The moment the airplane
is off, that 80 knots instantly becomes 88 knots, as there is a built-in error
in the pitot system when in ground effect.
Still maintaining the liftoff attitude, we allow a gentle climb and a
gentle airspeed increase, and we accelerate to 95 knots. With that, and only
when positive there will not be ground contact, pull the gear. Pulling the
gear is the signal to everyone in the cockpit that we will continue flying
with an engine failure. Before that, we'll probably put it back down. We
continue to hold that same liftoff attitude and accelerate to about 105 knots,
then pitch up gently (VERY gently) to hold that speed. Jet pilots have a LOT
of trouble with this concept, and invariably they will haul the airplane off
the ground and "rotate" to a nose high attitude as they do on the
job. That is DISASTER in any old prop airplane, for the performance is simply
not there.
(There is also NO SUCH THING as "Vr" or "Rotation" in a
prop airplane! That is strictly a jet certification term, and has several very
specific meanings that do NOT apply to props! I always get a chuckle out of
the idea of "rotating" any prop airplane, especially something like
a Cherokee.)
As the gear comes up and the situation stabilizes at around 105 knots, we
usually call for the first power reduction, to "METO" (Maximum
Except Take Off) power, or 44" and 2550. When heavy, we'll delay that a
few more seconds, to help gain altitude to protect from an engine failure.
At about 300 feet when light, or 500 feet (or more) when heavy, a second
power reduction is usually used, to 36" and 2300 RPM, or "Climb
Power."
105 knots makes an excellent pattern speed during the climb, and in level
flight. The airplane seems to like that speed, using about 25 inches of
manifold pressure and 1800 RPM on downwind, level. Any faster speed tends to
overrun other VFR traffic in the pattern, and slower than 105 knots brings on
problems with an engine failure. Trainees will almost always lose 10 knots
while they struggle with the airplane, and while 95 is fine, getting slower
will cause control problems with one engine at high power, and one windmilling.
Trainees quickly learn that if they let the speed drop below 95 knots
anywhere on downwind or base, or if they get below the glide slope, it is
certain that I'll cut one, and equally certain he won't make the runway. They
will not want a second demonstration!
The best way to fly the airplane is to stay WELL above the electronic or
visual glide slope, and keep 105 knots and NO flaps to somewhere within about
a mile of touchdown. At that point, full flaps can be extended, and the power
eased back a bit, allowing the airspeed to slowly drop off to about 75 or 80
knots over the fence. Somewhere in the flare, it is best to completely close
the throttles, and land power off. There is a tendency for the nose to drop,
but a little back pressure handles that, as on almost any airplane. There is
plenty of time to "feel" for the runway, and land in a slightly
tail-down attitude.
Under NO circumstances should C-46 pilots aim for a touchdown on the end of
the runway. It's too easy to misjudge and "stub your toe" on the
runway lip, and I've seen that happen too many times. Aim for the numbers, or
where the numbers should be, or beyond.
Depending on the vertical speed at the moment of touchdown, the airplane's
tail may drop. The tail is very heavy, and again old Isaac's laws come into
play. The gear stops the vertical speed of the gear, but the heavy tail wants
to continue down. That may increase the angle of attack enough to make the
airplane fly again, which is probably not a good idea. If the landing is a
squeaker (a better term would be "squaller," for the tires will emit
a low-pitched yelp of some duration on a really good landing, while the tires
come up to speed), there will be little tendency for the tail to continue
down. With an "impact," the tail wants to come down a lot, and that
leads to the famed C-46 bounce.
The downside of doing wheel landings is that bounces happen. A lot. Handled
properly, a bounce is no big deal, but most manage to snatch defeat from the
jaws of victory, and make them worse. The worst possible solution is to try
and "pin" the airplane by pushing the yoke well forward, raising the
tail, and keeping the airplane on the ground. One person who used to instruct
in China Doll before I arrived preferred this technique, and one day managed
to nail both props. I understand he walked away, and was never seen again. No
wonder they were short of instructors!
Now, there's a difference between a slight forward pressure to keep the
tail from continuing the descent when the main gear's downward progress is
halted by the ground, and stuffing the nose down to achieve a negative angle
of attack while the airplane is still airborne. The first is done as touchdown
occurs, the second is usually attempted with the airplane still in the air
after a bounce.
I have seen many people get a bounce, try to land again, get another, and
then continue the length of the runway, bouncing merrily away, each one about
the same as the last. This is made worse by small shots of power, which do
nothing but keep the forward speed up, allowing more bounces before running
out of lift.
The easiest way is to note the attitude at or just before the first
touchdown, and nail that attitude, letting the airplane bounce. It will
quickly lose speed, the bounces will decrease in height and damp themselves
out (he says), and by about the third touchdown, they'll be all done. If the
natural tendency to add power is avoided, there will be very little extra
runway used.
Another technique is to simply add power, set up a new touchdown, and try
to land it again. Of course, that often ends up with another bounce, much
further down the runway.
No matter what technique is employed, the new C-46 pilot invariably gets so
distracted by the bouncing, he forgets all about the rudder. Bad move, the
airplane KNOWS. I don't know how, but it just really does know. So swerves
will begin, adding to the woes of the pilot. By this time, his hands will be
so sweaty he's slipping on the yoke and throttles, and the sweat is getting in
his eyes so he can't see the swerves, I guess.
In that case, we might as well just do a go-around and get it over with,
mop up the sweat, and come back for another.
I've never run off a runway (or ground looped), but I've come closer than
in any other airplane while instructing in the C-46. I've been from one edge
of the runway to the other many times now, and it's just not a fun maneuver.
It is the classic problem faced by all instructors, just how far can you let a
trainee go. You must allow mistakes, and allow the trainee to attempt the
correction, but this one is so critical, and recovery is so difficult, it's
really hard.
It's also hard to explain why I've just rammed in full rudder, and started
reaching for the throttles (a primary recovery control). He thinks I've just
reacted for no reason at all, because he probably didn't even see the nose
start to go.
It's rarely the first swerve that's the most difficult. What happens is
that the airplane will swerve (for whatever reason), the trainee (or
instructor) then stops the swing, leaving the nose pointed at the edge of the
runway. It's very easy to panic at that point, and actuate all available
control to the other extreme, to keep it on the runway. Once the nose swings
back towards the centerline, the trainee relaxes, and figures everything is
all right, after all, we're going to miss the edge of the runway. But what is
happening is that the airplane is now in a violent and near-uncontrollable
swerve that will go right through the runway heading, with an increasing yaw
rate! This is the swerve that will put you right off in the boonies in short
order, in a ground-looping swirl of dust.
The instant that nose stops on the first swerve, and just barely begins to
swing back to the runway heading, THAT'S the time to start full attempts to
stop the new swerve!
It is SUCH an interesting airplane, and I love it dearly.
Be careful up there!
Email this article
