Some Aviation Axioms-And Opinions

Nearly 20 years ago I began writing a column—The Pilot's Lounge—for AVweb. It eventually evolved into the position of Features Editor and writing two or three feature articles each month. As a result of my association with AVweb, I've been fortunate enough to meet many of the fascinating and delightful people that characterize aviation, learn a great deal from them and fly some memorable aircraft. I've also been lucky enough to be nearby and watch as flight worked its magic on people—widening eyes, softening harsh expressions and enriching lives.

As a pilot who has flown a wide variety of aircraft, spent some time as a freight dog and much more as a flight instructor, and as an attorney working in the world of aviation, I've written about the things I've learned, sometimes the hard way. I happen to like flying tailwheel airplanes and airplanes on skis and floats, so a fair proportion of my articles have been about techniques for flying those machines. As an aviation attorney I've looked into the causes of numerous accidents and worked with true experts in the fields of aircraft design, flight test, crashworthiness, pilot performance and human factors, so those became the topics of many of my articles.

I was recently asked to list what I considered, as a pilot and lawyer, to be some of the more important truths of aviation that a pilot should know and follow to help him or her get as much joy as possible out of flying and avoid as many of its pitfalls as possible. The following is that list—subjective of course—more than a little cynical, but as blunt as I can be. And, I couldn't help it; I tossed in a few opinions.

The weather is not going to get better in another five miles.

If you are trying to scud-run, the weather will get worse.

Towers and power lines are affected by weather: They get taller and move nearer to highways, railroad tracks and airports when the ceiling gets very low.

You are most likely to discover an unlighted tower when you are trying to fly low because of weather.

Power lines are invisible against backgrounds other than bright blue sky.

Scud running used to be a reasonable method of getting to one's destination in the flatlands of our country—now with the stunning proliferation of towers, particularly near highways, it is foolish. To do it with any regularity is suicidal.

One close encounter with a tower or a set of power lines appearing out of the haze or fog when scud-running, or going below minimums on an instrument approach, will give you years of the most hideously vivid nightmares you can imagine.

It's not the smartest thing in the world to duck under the glideslope after breaking out of the clouds so as to land short. Many more airplanes crash in the approach lights after an ILS than go off the far end of the runway. There are no prizes for the shortest landing following an ILS.

No matter what the weather, there is less gas in the tanks than you hope.

Especially if you are professional pilot, the worse the weather, the more likely it is that you will have a vocal passenger insisting that you go.

The posters on the walls in Air Force Flight Ops rooms were right: There is no reason to fly through a thunderstorm in peacetime.

When making a decision regarding weather, an effective tool is to ask oneself if this might lead to looking stupid in the NTSB report.

Being introduced to flight in ice by an instructor under controlled conditions is hugely valuable and probably a violation of the FARs. It is far, far better than trying to learn about it vicariously or as you start getting ice on the airframe for your first time without an instructor next to you.

If you do get ice on the airframe, do not use the flaps on landing. Go fast and do not reduce the power below what you carried on final approach until the wheels touch the runway. Pulling the power off in the flare will probably cause you to stall and plummet the last few feet to the runway with enough force to collapse the landing gear.

It's always better to turn back too early than too late.

Departing with one component of a redundant system out of service has a strange way of making the other one fail in flight.

When flying a tailwheel airplane in a crosswind, hard-soled shoes are an invitation to a groundloop.

Even pilots who fly every day need recurrent training. It's the stuff you don't do every day—emergency procedures—that will eat your lunch.

The longer it's been since you took recurrent training, the greater your risk of an accident—especially one involving runway loss of control. As a pilot, the greatest gift you can give yourself, your family and your passengers is recurrent training every six months.

The human is the weak link in the airplane performance equation—the only way to strengthen it is regular training.

Read everything you can about aviation. AVweb's archives are a treasure trove, especially John Deakin's engine articles and Mike Busch's maintenance pieces.

Despite what fighter pilots say, it's better to be embarrassed than dead.

Saying "any traffic please advise" on Unicom is a waste of words and air time—it gains you nothing that you would not get from a simple position report and it aggravates enough pilots that those who would be of interest to you may say nothing.

Work sample weight and balance problems for any airplane you fly—inadvertently loading an airplane out of the forward or aft CG limit is a mistake that you may only get to make once. The only four-place airplane of which I am aware that you cannot load out of its CG range without putting anvils on one of the seats (or more than 120 pounds in the baggage compartment) is the Cessna Cardinal. As with every airplane you can, however, overload it.

A turning propeller is invisible. Nonpilots are known to walk into them. So are pilots.

Use all the power available on takeoff. The engine was built for it and needs that extra bit of fuel provided at full throttle for cooling. A partial-power takeoff in a horizontally opposed engine is harder on the engine than using full power. It also slows acceleration and rate of climb, prolonging the period of time of high-temperature operation.

The small problem with your airplane that you have delayed fixing will become a major problem at the most remote airport on your trip.

Trying to argue with a controller over the radio is akin to shaking your fist at bad weather; you can't win and you run the risk of making things worse.

Lean-of-peak engine operations are the best way to run your fuel-injected engine. Those who haven't caught on yet may simply be unable to learn or just unwilling.

There is no need to say "with you" when contacting a new controller. It's redundant, uses up air time on increasingly crowded frequencies and most controllers are sick of hearing it.

The world looks different when flying very low and trying to maneuver radically down low. For instance, turning back after an engine failure on takeoff, when you haven't practiced it, has a distressingly high fatality rate.

While speed may be life to fighter pilots, that's only in combat. The reality is that appropriate speed is life: too little after takeoff kills, as does too much on landing. Extra speed on final is not your friend, because energy is a squared function. You've got enough energy to dissipate on landing when touching down near stall speed; anything faster is adding to your challenge. Use all the flaps on landing; they help dissipate that energy effectively.

A pilot who intentionally frightens a passenger is nothing short of a sadist. The victims often come away from the flight despising aviation and may well join the groups that seek to close airports.

There is a lot of junk for sale out there. Insist on lots of photos and copies of the logbooks before traveling to look at an airplane. Interpret resistance to such a basic request as the owner trying to hide something bad—walk away.

"Fresh Annual" and "Fresh Overhaul" are hooks for suckers. Nobody does a decent annual or overhaul and then sells the airplane.

Have a prepurchase exam done by a mechanic who knows the aircraft type and that you select—not that the seller selects. Do not ever omit this step when buying an airplane.

Budget one quarter of the purchase price of a new-to-you airplane for repairs that you will have to make in the first year—more if you are planning any upgrades.

Buy insurance—there is no magic bullet to protect yourself from liability if you have an accident. Having the airplane owned by a corporation does not protect you from liability if you were the one flying it. The rule is simple: If you have a risk, insure the risk. You own an airplane. That's a risk. Insure it.

Insure the airplane for its full value. Underinsuring it means that what is otherwise minor damage may mean that the cost of repairs is so close to the insured value that the airplane is effectively a "total loss" and you either get paid the insured value and have to give up the airplane or pay for the repairs out of your pocket.

Buy "smooth" coverage to get the full benefit of aircraft insurance. A "sublimits" policy—typically $1 million overall with $100,000 sublimits—only gives you $100,000 coverage for each individual hurt in an accident, not $1 million. Because you rarely carry more than two or three passengers, having a full $1 million available to settle lawsuits may mean the difference between a routine settlement and losing your house.

When it comes to the cost of maintaining an airplane, think of what it would cost to buy your airplane new, now. That is the airplane you are maintaining.

Fuel tanks in a tank in front of the cabin or in wing leading edges are an invitation to post-crash fire.

Nylon and polyester clothing melts in the presence of intense heat and sticks to you, causing serious burns.

It's been said by so many because it's so true: Fly the airplane all the way into the crash. So long as it's moving, never give up trying to control the airplane and making it go where you want to go.

Shoulder harnesses have done more to reduce the degree of injuries in aircraft accidents than any other safety device. Not insisting that your passengers wear their shoulder harnesses may subject you to liability should you have an accident. Not wearing an available harness has proven terminally foolish for too many pilots. It may be possible to retrofit shoulder harnesses on an airplane you own. For example, shoulder harnesses can be retrofitted on all seats for all single-engine Cessna airplanes (and the Skymaster) back to the 1945 model year. The hard points were put in at the factory. Check our sister publication, Aviation Consumer, for more information.

Especially in a twin, if you have to put the airplane onto the ground, do it as nearly wings-level as possible and do not stall the airplane prior to touchdown. Airplanes, even old ones, are surprisingly crashworthy (if shoulder harnesses are worn) but not if you hit upside down or with a substantial vertical vector (as after stalling).

If you have to land the airplane gear up, do so on a hard-surface runway. If you screw up and stall, the runway will translate the force into a slide. On grass or dirt there is the chance the surface will compress slightly, forming a crater and then stop the airplane very quickly, injuring the occupants.

To the extent I have been able to chase accident records, there hasn't been anyone hurt in a gear-up landing of a civilian airplane since World War II—so long as the pilot did not try to "save the prop" by shutting down the engine(s). There have been a number of fatal accidents when pilots shut down the powerplant and proceeded to crash short of the runway or go off the end at high speed.

Going around if the approach isn't just right is never, ever an indication of incompetence unless, of course, you are about to run out of fuel.

There are Neanderthals in this world who will gather to critique landings and make snide remarks about pilots who go around. There have been accidents at flight schools and airports where this practice takes place because pilots pressed on and landed out of a bad approach because they knew they would be laughed at for going around. I'm hoping that there's a special circle of hell for pilots who criticize other pilots for making a go-around.

Successfully managing energy in the process of coming to a stop is the key to any landing—or accident. Slow is always better than fast when it comes to surviving. Going off the end at 25 knots is better than crashing short of the runway at flying speed.

As old airplanes get more valuable, if you wreck a true classic or antique—especially when doing something dumb—don't be surprised when more sympathy is expressed for the loss of the aeronautical work of art than for you. After all, you may just be the product of unskilled labor.

Even the slowest airplane goes fast enough to kill you and thus the most modest trainer deserves the same operational respect as the Mach 2 fighter.

A fairly effective way to spot low-time pilots at an aeronautical gathering is to look for the ones sporting shirts and hats covered with patches and wings. Another technique is to watch for the ones who start their aircraft engine at other than nearly idle RPM.

A pilot with any poetry in his or her soul knows that it is always appropriate to quietly thank the airplane for a flight after putting it away. In fact, some assert that those who do not do so may have no soul and should not be allowed in the sky.

The clich is depressingly true: The chances of making a superb landing are inversely proportional to the number of people watching.

If a pilot has not practiced something, the accident reports make it clear that the chances that he or she can do that something in an emergency are lousy—be it scud run, turn back following an engine failure after takeoff or stop the prop and make a safe landing when the gear won't come down. A lot of people get killed each year trying to do something brand new when they have an emergency. So, go with what you know and have practiced, even if it means damaging the airplane. That's why insurance exists.

When in doubt about a clearance, ask. Even a snide remark from a controller (which happens to be extremely rare) is not nearly as embarrassing as a violation for deviating from a clearance or, worse yet, smacking into another airplane.

Pilots who have spent time in gliders and tailwheel airplanes tend to be much better stick and rudder pilots than those who have not. Significantly better.

Most pilots who make jokes about helicopters are secretly jealous and deep down wish they had the opportunity or money to fly them regularly.

If you do something moronic down low, such as buzz someone or something, don't be the least bit surprised if someone complains. With cellphone cameras and small video cameras, there's a good chance that when they do complain they'll also have the evidence to convict you. Remember, in the 1978 PSA San Diego midair, the 727 descended steeply, on fire, for fewer than 30 seconds. There are good-quality photographs of it. Nearly everyone carries a camera now.

If you care about aviation, attend the local airport board meetings and try to become a member. Pilots are a tiny minority within the population and have to stay involved with the politics that affect airports and flight. Standing around and complaining doesn't help—decisions about airports are made by the people who show up.

It is almost invariably worth it to get up very early so as to be the pilot in command of an aircraft taking off at sunrise. At the moment of liftoff the world transforms itself from black and white to full color. It is especially true in a balloon.

We are always ambassadors for aviation, for good or for evil, simply because there are so few of us. Our actions are watched and we are the source of comment, often when we least expect it or maybe even want it. Therefore we have no choice but to be a good example all the time.

The round rainbow around your airplane's shadow on a cloud is called a glory. The first time you see one the name will make eminent sense.

Pushing the prop to high RPM on downwind makes much more noise than you realize and pisses off far more people than you can imagine. And they are the ones who will vote to close your airport.

Spend as much time as possible on grass runways. They are good for the aviator's soul. If you can, take a walk on one (yes, avoid airplanes) and think about all of those who have come before you to use it as a place to reach into the sky. You might also consider it to be more than just a strip of grass, but as a place from which you can launch in the most modest of airplanes and proceed to go anywhere in the world. I'm not sure why, but a walk on a grass runway when it's not being used, perhaps of an evening, as a gentle breeze caresses your cheek, is one of the best ways to relieve stress of which I know.

No matter how modest, an airplane that lifts you into the sky is a real airplane; it doesn't get any more real than that; there are only differences in degree.

There is nothing more beautiful than this world when viewed from aloft.

This is my final regular feature for AVweb. Features are being taken over by Kate O'Connor. I wish her as much joy writing them as I have had.

Rick Durden is a CFII who holds an ATP with type ratings in the Douglas DC-3 and Cessna Citation and is the author of The Thinking Pilot's Flight Manual or, How to Survive Flying Little Airplanes and Have a Ball Doing It, Vols. 1 & 2.