The FAA has said we may log an instrument approach if we are in actual or simulated conditions inside the final approach fix [Ref:§ 61.51(g)(3) and §61.57(c)]. But think about whether you were in actual IMC or not. As one example, you’re on a straight-in visual on a clear evening with the setting sun directly in your eyes, making any visual references in front of the aircraft useless. Although there’s not a cloud in the sky, you loaded the precision approach for belt-and-suspender situational awareness. That was a good call because the early evening sun is blinding any attempt to look out the window. You transition to the instruments and fly the approach, intercepting the GPS glide slope and keeping the VDI centered. Sun visors down, you finally see the runway and land. Was that loggable?

The Moonless Night Letter

Flash back to the early 1980s when Joseph Carr asked the FAA legal department some interesting questions about logging instrument flight time. One scenario is a flight over the ocean on a moonless night, without a discernible horizon for visual reference. Controlling the aircraft by 100 percent reference to instruments, is this loggable as actual instrument time even though the conditions were officially VFR? This resulted in a formal legal interpretation by the FAA’s chief counsel that’s commonly called the “Moonless Night Letter.” And while the rules for logging time (it’s in 14 CFR61.51) haven’t changed in close to 50 years, there’s an interesting discussion about actual versus simulated instrument conditions that’s worth talking about.

According to the Moonless Night Letter, “simulated” instrument conditions occur when the pilot’s vision outside of the aircraft is intentionally restricted, such as by a hood or goggles. Moreover, “actual” instrument flight conditions exist “when some outside conditions make it necessary for the pilot to use the aircraft instruments in order to maintain adequate control over the aircraft. Typically, these conditions involve adverse weather conditions.” Typically—but not always.

The chief counsel concluded that actual instrument conditions may occur in the case described, which is a moonless night over the ocean with no discernible horizon, if use of the instruments is necessary to maintain adequate control over the aircraft. Still, that brought yet more questions than answers.

The Six-Month Rule

Before 1997, the six-month rule for instrument currency in 61.57 also required six hours of instrument flight time. This may have originally prompted Carr to query the FAA, but discussions and questions about the Moonless Night Letter continue, which we’ll explore. They have not been addressed by the FAA, so we’ll speculate on the answers. You might have different opinions, and you might be right. Consider two concepts.

First, the Moonless Night Letter does not define “instrument meteorological conditions” (IMC). It defines “actual instrument flight conditions.” The two are not synonymous. The FAA defines IMC as conditions less than the requirements for VFR flight (see, for example,14 CFR 170.3 and the pilot/controller glossary).

The second concept is “adequate control of the aircraft.” To borrow two of the three oft-repeated trio of flight priorities, I’d say this refers to the ability to aviate, not navigate. The “aircraft instruments” referred to are the aircraft’s attitude instruments, not its navigation instruments. Put another way, the Moonless Night Letter permits us to log actual instrument time when outside conditions require us to use the instruments to keep the shiny side up. For example, a pilot flying on top of an overcast to a broken cloud deck, who has no difficulty flying level but needs to rely on some navaids to stay on course, is not in “actual.”

Who Needs an Instrument Rating?

It’s not only about instrument currency. Notably 61.65 requires 40 hours of instrument flight time for the airplane instrument rating, only 20 of which must be dual with a CFII. Some of those are commonly flown under simulated conditions. Could our student forgo the hood, find a desolate area on a moonless VFR night with high overcast, and build some of that time solo? Visibility might even be excellent, with another aircraft’s bright LED navigation and anti-collision lights clearly visible 20 miles-plus away. Putting the wisdom of that aside, the Moonless Night Letter presumes visual conditions qualifying for VFR, and there is nothing to suggest our student couldn’t log that. Then there’s the question of adequate control. 

If you consider that this Moonless Night Letter refers to aviating and not navigating, when exactly do the outside conditions require instruments “to maintain adequate control over the aircraft?” There’s a lot of personal comfort, proficiency, and pilot discretion here. “The determination as to whether flight by reference to instruments is necessary is somewhat subjective, and based in part on the sound judgment of the pilot.” But the letter adds “the log should include the reasons for determining that the flight was under actual instrument conditions in case the pilot later would be called on to prove that the actual instrument flight time logged was legitimate.”

Most can agree on the “flight over the ocean on a moonless night without a discernible horizon.” Aviation texts and FAA handbooks and guidance (and countless National Transportation Safety Board accident reports) describe a series of visual illusions that can lead to severe spatial disorientation. Among them are sloping cloud formations, a nighttime scene with little ability to differentiate ground lights and stars, and “black hole” approaches and departures.

After that, reasonable opinions diverge. Flying above a broken cloud deck? Unless the cloud formations are sloping, even a student pilot should be able to maintain control. Similarly, on my checkout in the Colorado Rockies I was asked to do steep turns in a valley surrounded by mountains. It was disorienting and I had to go to instruments. That was the point, but it certainly wasn’t “actual instrument flight conditions.”

Can You Log the Approach?

The FAA’s 61.57 requires, among other things, logging six approaches and one hold in the past six calendar months to stay current. You might ask if you could log a practice approach while in Moonless Night conditions. In the scenario, the pilot heads to a remote airport in a desolate area, “activating the airport lights only after passing the FAF.” I don’t think there’s an easy answer, and my educated guess is a firm “maybe.” I don’t see a problem with natural phenomena such as the FAA-recognized “black hole” approach when there are no approach lights giving visual cues. But how would the FAA treat the decision to avoid turning on the lights? Is it “outside conditions?” Or is the pilot’s vision being “intentionally restricted” in a manner akin to simulated instrument flight?

Years after the famous Moonless Night Letter, if asked, the FAA might make a distinction between “natural” conditions resulting from outside causes and “artificial” conditions the pilot creates. Or it might say it doesn’t matter whether the conditions are natural or artificial, so long as the pilot (a) needs the flight instruments for aircraft control and (b) is not wearing a hood restricting the ability to see and avoid traffic.

That Blinding Sun

We began with a scenario where the position of the sun makes seeing the runway impossible, so the pilot flies the approach to find the runway. Here, there’s no “natural” vs. “artificial” distinction—it’s the sun. But what about the aviate-vs.-navigate distinction? If some of the horizon is visible to the sides, is flying the approach required to maintain control of the aircraft or is it simply a navigational aid?

Ultimately, it’s a judgment call. As the FAA chief counsel acknowledged, it is “somewhat subjective, and based in part on the sound judgment of the pilot.” One pilot in this situation might decide to log the approach—another might not. My best answer is borrowed from longtime aviation writer Bob Gardner who once said, “You are the best judge of whether an approach has made you a more proficient instrument pilot or has just allowed you to fill a gap in your log.” That has always been my personal guide.

Fortunately, this discussion is an academic mental exercise for most of us. We no longer have a time requirement, and Moonless Night conditions requiring an approach are uncommon. If you do encounter one, use your best judgment, but be prepared to justify it in the rare instance a question arises.

Mark Kobler is a regular contributor to sister publication IFR magazine, the journal for the accomplished pilot continuously looking to expand their knowledge base in the name of safety.

The post Logging Actual IMC Requires More Than Clouds appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Since I was planning a flight the following week during the day from Paine Field (KPAE) in Everett, Washington, to Jefferson County International Airport (0S9) to take a taxi into Port Townsend, then fly back to Paine after dark, I needed to get night current. Having not flown at night much over the last couple of years, I thought that I would prepare in advance.

I rented a Cessna 172 from Regal Air at KPAE and scheduled company CFI Nick Butterfield to come along to make sure that I was up to speed. Instead of just doing three stop-and-goes on Paine’s 9,010-foot-long runway, I asked Nick to put me under the hood to see if I could keep a heading and altitude without looking at outside references, then do a couple of night landings at “JeffCo.” 

The hood work turned out to be a very good idea. I was very rusty on instruments. “That’s harder than I remember,” I told Butterfield as he asked me to climb from 2,500 to 3,500 feet while changing directions from west to south and descending down to 2,700 feet while turning to north and then back to the west. Keeping straight and level at a prescribed altitude provided a challenge. It seems that I had trouble with my scan. Focusing on the altimeter caused my heading to drift and vice versa. It took several attempts before I could get it right.

After the hood work, it was well after dark but a beautiful, clear, calm night to fly 20 miles over Puget Sound, picking out city lights on the shoreline. As we got near JeffCo, I let Butterfield know that I had flown there many times, even back in the day when it was the only U.S. international airport with a grass field, but never at night.

• READ MORE: Beloved Flight Instructor’s Lessons Continue to Replay in Airline Captain’s Head

Butterfield shared that he had not either. He said he avoided that airport at night since it was set in forests that, in the dark, looked like a “black hole.” He also heard that wildlife could be a problem in those conditions.

“It looks like we are both in for an adventure,” I said. Around 7 miles out near Port Ludlow, we headed toward Port Hadlock to avoid overflying a Navy-restricted area on Marrowstone Island. We switched to JeffCo’s frequency, and Butterfield checked the weather and learned that the winds were calm and that there was no other air traffic. He then asked me what I planned to do next.

I told him that I was going to continue along the shoreline, get the airport lights in sight, turn west from the shoreline, and then go on a 45-degree entry to a left downwind to Runway 27 for a full-stop landing. He responded, “Right answer.” After beginning a descent to pattern altitude of 1,100 feet, it did seem like we were over a black hole with only a couple of cellphone towers and the distant runway lights in view.

After turning on the 45, the airport complex came into full view, and my first night landing in a long time was OK. The second was a bit better. After landing, we exited the 3,000-foot runway and taxied back to 27. 

Along the way, I let Butterfield know that there was a very good restaurant called the Spruce Goose Cafe at the airport that is definitely worth a breakfast or lunch flight and that the Port Townsend Aero Museum offers a great variety of military and civilian aircraft. But one of the best reasons to fly to JeffCo is that it is just a 10-minute taxi ride from the historic seaport of Port Townsend.

At the end of the taxiway, I came to a full stop and looked around, announced our intention to depart on Runway 27 for a left downwind departure, and began to enter the runway. Then we both saw a deer scamper away from the south side of the runway, and I came to a full stop on the centerline. We both looked around and did not see any more critters.

I pushed in the throttle and began the takeoff roll. Suddenly, another deer ran from the north side of the runway, coming to a dead stop on the centerline and staring at our landing light. I yanked the throttle out, hit the brakes hard, and stopped less than 10 feet from the deer.

After pausing to look at us, the deer sprinted to the south side of the runway, disappearing into the darkness beyond the runway lights. Butterfield and I took a deep breath and stared at each other. “That was quite a wildlife experience,” I said.

• READ MORE: Ice on the Wings Brings About a Near-Miss Episode

“If you hadn’t hit the brakes,” he said, “that would have been very messy.” 

Not exactly sure where we were on the runway, and a bit excited, I decided to taxi to a midfield exit and go back to the start of Runway 27 for another attempt. Fortunately, that takeoff was uneventful.

We headed back to KPAE, where there are no blackholes around the big complex that includes one of Boeing’s large facilities to the north of the runway. However, the tower closes after 9 p.m., and there were five aircraft in the pattern, all trying to get night current. Adding to the multiple headlight scenario, a Horizon Air pilot announced, “Inbound for landing on 34 left, 10 miles out.”

Those of us in the pattern extended our downwind legs a few miles before attempting to land. I gave myself a “B” grade on the first attempt. The next try was a squeaker I deemed worthy of an “A.” Time to call it a night and talk more about deer in the headlights. Butterfield filled in my logbook: “Four night landings; one deer near miss.”

After that experience, I will follow Butterfield’s lead and avoid JeffCo after dark. The next week, I took off just before dark from the airport—avoiding more deer in the headlights—and got back to Paine before the tower closed so it could direct traffic.

Tom Murdoch is the director of the Adopt A Stream Foundation (www.streamkeeper.org), conducting aerial wildlife surveys and taking aerial photos of the organization’s stream restoration projects.

The post Finding a Deer in the Headlights appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Slowing down matters as much as accelerating in most auto racing, and the same is true of STOL Drag racing. Unlike traditional Reno-style pylon racing, which involves no slowing down whatsoever, STOL Drag requires starting and stopping twice while flying less than a mile.

I have never been to a STOL Drag race, and so I will probably be pummeled for whatever I say, but here goes anyway.

Two pylons and corresponding start/stop lines are set 2,000 feet apart. A third pylon is placed at the 1,000-foot mark, just for reference. The idea is to take off from the first line, fly to the far line, land, come to a full stop, turn around, and repeat the process without touching the ground between the lines. Two airplanes compete side by side, and the winner is the one that first comes to a full stop at the end of the race. Best times are just over 50 seconds, so, for a pleasurable activity, it’s brief.

In principle anyone can participate, but the really serious competitors use highly modified airplanes that can accelerate like mad and stop very short after touching down. However, competitors are paired off according to aircraft performance, so it wouldn’t be unusual to see a Skylane compete against a Beech Bonanza.

• READ MORE: Valdez Fly-In STOL Competition Celebrates 20th Anniversary

Since it’s a time trial, the race rewards acceleration, speed on the airborne segment, and deceleration after each landing. But the equation is complicated by the need to begin to slow down long before reaching the far pylon. Pilots accomplish this by chopping power, kicking in full rudder, and slipping toward the line. But even this phase isn’t as simple as it sounds. Airplanes decelerate quicker with wheel braking than aerodynamic braking, so while it may seem as if it’s best to touch down at minimum speed to reduce the rollout distance, it may actually be better to get the wheels on the ground as quickly as possible, even a few knots above the stall speed.

Initial acceleration is a function of the airplane’s mass and the engine-propeller combination’s thrust. Big thrust requires lots of power and a big prop. Two of the dominant competitors in the sport, Toby Ashley and Steve Henry, fly a Carbon Cub and Just Aircraft Highlander, respectively.

(Henry’s Nampa, Idaho, company, Wild West Aircraft, sells the Highlander as a light sport kit.) Neither racing airplane has much in common with its ordinary Lycoming- or Rotax-powered brethren. Both use liquid-cooled, geared, turbocharged, intercooled engines with very big props. They say the engines put out around 400 hp. The airplanes are stripped down, competing at weights less than 1,000 pounds. Since they are generating more than 2,000 pounds of static thrust, and therefore achieve an initial acceleration of 2Gs or more, it’s not surprising that both get airborne in a couple of seconds and a few dozen feet.

• READ MORE: The Ryan YO-51 Wowed with STOL Performance

The powerful initial acceleration does not last long, however, because thrust diminishes as speed increases, and drag grows in proportion to the square of speed. At 90 knots, which an airplane accelerating at an average 1G would reach in five seconds and 400 feet, drag has increased to more than 200 pounds and thrust is cut in half. Since the drag can be subtracted from the thrust to get the net force accelerating the mass of the airplane, it follows that the forward acceleration may already be well under 1G.

The actual segment times, based on videos of Henry racing at Reno last year, are, as you would guess, asymmetrical, reflecting the fact that it is easier to speed up than slow down. From brake release to throttle down at midcourse, about 10 seconds elapse. From there to wheels on, another 10, but at that point the airplane is still moving at around its stall speed of 35 knots. The rollout takes four seconds and another four to get turned around. The times going back are similar for a total of 52 seconds.

If the average acceleration up to the middle of the course were two-thirds of a G, the maximum speed attained would be about 125 knots. If the touchdown speed at the far end were 35 knots, the average deceleration in the slip would be a bit under under one-half G—more at the start and less at the end. By the time the wheels touch the ground, the rate of deceleration is pretty low. Wheel braking brings it back up to the half-G level.

• READ MORE: Valdez STOL Competition & Fly-In Air Show Marks 20 Years of Excellence

The Carbon Cub and Highlander regularly finish within a fraction of a second of each other, and successive heats also differ by small amounts. That consistency is a testament to the pilots’ skills, since, as you find when you watch any of Henry’s cockpit videos, quite a lot goes on during the brief race. Everything hinges on the deceleration timing, staying as low as possible, and amount of wheel braking that can be applied without nosing over.

Henry claims to use his airplane as a daily driver—probably at about 20 percent of power. But I suppose that if STOL Drag racing continues to be popular, it may eventually engender purpose-built airplanes. Very likely the slip-to-slow-down approach would be supplemented or replaced by large air brakes that would add several square feet to the airplane’s equivalent flat plate area. Maybe a slight edge in acceleration could be gained by cleaning up the front end, replacing the big intercooler radiator with a small tank of ice water, and getting engine cooling air to the main radiator with a scoop and duct. But aerodynamic refinement may be pointless, since so little time is spent at high speed.

High wings and a tailwheel are taken for granted on STOL airplanes for a lot of practical reasons. But I wonder whether a low wing with some extra span—taking better advantage of ground effect—and tricycle gear with brakes on all three wheels might bring some advantages. Add lots of horsepower and an airfoil with a maximum lift coefficient of two, and then…off to the races!

This column first appeared in the April 2024/Issue 947 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Looking at the Physics of STOL Drag appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In contrast, all light sport aircraft (LSA), experimental amateur-built airplanes, and warbirds are issued special certificates. In my view, the rule can be divided into two main parts: airplane descriptions and capabilities, and pilot certificates, technician privileges, and operating limitations. In short, airplanes or people.

For airplanes, the NPRM (Notice of Proposed Rulemaking) felt like Christmas in July, granting many capabilities industry and pilot member organizations had sought over some years of negotiation. The people part describes who gets to fly and maintain these MOSAIC LSAs and under what rules. This latter section inspired greater concern.

Airplanes: What We Gained

Here’s the list of what FAA offered and how each changed:

Gross weight: LSAs have been limited to 1,320 pounds (land) or 1,430 pounds (water). Under MOSAIC, the weight limit is removed and clean stall constrains size so the aircraft remains what FAA sought: those “easy to fly, operate, and maintain.” It is expected that weight can rise to 3,000 pounds depending on the design.

Stall speed: Presently, LSAs cannot stall faster than 45 knots. This will be raised 20 percent to 54 knots, but this is clean stall, the purpose of which is to limit aircraft size and difficulty. It has no relation to landing speed or slow-flight qualities. This more than doubled the potential size, hence a new term, “MOSAIC LSA.”

Four seats: LSAs are presently limited by definition to two seats. This rises to four in a MOSAIC LSA, but if operated by someone using sport pilot certificate privileges, then only one passenger can be carried. A private certificate with medical may fill all four seats, assuming weight and balance allows.

Retractable gear: Light sport aircraft have been fixed gear only, except for amphibious models. Now any MOSAIC LSA can be retractable. Several imported LSAs already offer retractable options in other countries.

Adjustable prop: LSAs were allowed only ground-adjustable props. Now a MOSAIC LSA can have an in-flight adjustable prop. Such equipment on similar aircraft is common in other countries.

250 knot max speed: An LSA was limited by definition to 120 knots at full power. Now the speed limit matches all other aircraft below 10,000 feet: 250 knots. No one expected such a large expansion, but now retractable and adjustable props make more sense.

Rotary expansion: After 20 years of waiting, fully built gyroplanes will be allowed. That followed years of advocacy effort, but when the opposition finally yielded, the FAA also granted helicopters.

Electric or hybrid: Because the FAA did not want turbine LSAs in 2004, it specified reciprocating engines, unintentionally knocking out electric motors that few were considering at the time. In fixing the definition to allow electric, the agency will also permit hybrids. Examples are already flying in Europe.

Turbine: Perhaps turbine engines were harder to operate 20 years ago when LSA were defined, but today they are seen as simpler, and the FAA will allow them. Turbine-powered MOSAIC LSA candidates are already flying in Europe.

Multiple engines/motors: The LSA has been limited to a single engine by definition. That constraint is removed, although no language was given to address how the pilot qualifies.

Aerial work: The Light Aircraft Manufacturers Association (LAMA) lobbied for MOSAIC LSAs to be permitted to do forms of aerial work, although not passenger or cargo hauling. The FAA has granted this opportunity to the manufacturers, which can specify what operations they will permit. A commercial pilot certificate will be required.

One downside to all these goodies? Each will increase the price. The good news? Present-day LSAs offer lower prices and have proven enjoyable and dependable. Many LSAs are fine as they are and have no need to change.

A lot of LSA producers already meet higher weights in other countries where permitted. They are merely reduced on paper to meet U.S. standards. It should be straightforward for them to redeclare meeting all MOSAIC-level ASTM standards to qualify for higher weights.

The only question is how far backward compatible they can go for aircraft in the field over which they have had no control for some time. It’s an industry question to resolve, and it will swiftly be handled to aid sales.

People and Areas of Concern

Medicals: Lots of questions surround one of the principal benefits of LSA operation: the lack of requirement for an aviation medical if operating as a sport pilot. More specifically, pilots want to fly larger aircraft using these privileges, meaning no medical certificate, or BasicMed, instead using the driver’s license as evidence of their medical fitness.

To keep within their budget, many pilots wish to buy (or keep flying) legacy GA aircraft such as the Cessna 150, 172, 177, and some 182s, plus certain Pipers, Diamonds, Champions, or other brands. Many of the latter aircraft are too heavy to allow such privilege today. MOSAIC appears to change that, but without presenting compelling evidence that possession of a medical assures a flight proceeds safely, the FAA nonetheless clings to this premise. Many assert the occurrence of medical problems sufficient to upset a flight or cause an accident are incredibly small in number.

Stall speed: Most NPRM readers agree that it was a worthy solution to use 54 knots clean stall as a means to limit the size of the airplane and to keep it within the FAA’s mantra of LSAs being “easy to fly, operate, and maintain.”

However, many respondents note that adding just a couple knots to that limit will allow several more airplanes that some wish to buy and fly under MOSAIC rules. Note that the 54-knot reference is not related to landing speeds or slow flight, where lift-enhancing devices like flaps would normally be used.

Some pilots asked if adding vortex generators could reduce stall speed enough to qualify. The problem lies in proving a slower stall speed was achieved. Stall (V_S1) printed in the POH will be the standard about compliance.

Several pilots have complained about use of calibrated versus indicated airspeed for the stall limit, but this is another matter that might be clarified after the comment period.

Endorsements: One of the significant lessons learned in 20 years of pilots operating LSAs is the so-called magic of endorsements. Instead of asking pilots to receive training, take a knowledge test and possibly an oral exam, followed by a practical flight test, they can just go get trained for added skills from an instructor who then endorses their logbook accordingly, and they’re good to go. This puts a significant burden on flight instructors to do their jobs well, but that’s already the situation.

The NPRM already refers to the use of endorsements for retractable gear training or adjustable prop training, and many believe that expanding endorsements to all privileges described in the MOSAIC proposal has merit.

Noise: For the first time, the NPRM introduced noise requirements that encompass several pages. Coincidentally, the LSA sector is already one of the quietest in the airborne fleet.

This is partly because of European noise regulations that have been in place for a long time, motivating quieter engine and exhaust system development. However, LSAs are also quieter because the powerplants are modern, thanks to the faster approval process implied by industry consensus standards.

The industry was not pleased about the noise proposal, as these requirements add burden without identifiable benefit. Nonetheless, the situation might be handled through the ASTM process more quickly and still satisfy political demands.

Night: MOSAIC’s language invigorated many readers when the NPRM expressed support for a sport pilot to fly at night—with proper training and a logbook endorsement. Then the proposal refers to other FAA regulations that require BasicMed or a medical. If you must have a medical, you are not exercising the central privilege of a sport pilot. Why suggest that a sport pilot can do things that are blocked by other regulations? This conflict should be resolved.

This is one of several aspects of the NPRM that many describe as “inconsistencies,” where one part of MOSAIC appears to restrict another part, often for unclear reasons. Such observations lead many to declare the NPRM looks “rushed to market.” Hopefully, most problems can be addressed in the post-comment period.

When surveyed about why night privileges are valued, most pilots wanted to be able to complete a cross-country flight with a landing after dark.

IFR/IMC: Contrary to what many think, the FAA has never prohibited LSAs from IFR/IMC operation. It is the lack of an ASTM standard to which manufacturers can declare compliance that prevents such sales. (Some special LSA owners elect a change to experimental LSA status and can then file IFR, assuming they have a rating, are current, and the airplane is properly equipped.)

However, as with night operations, many LSA owners report higher-level pilot certificates often including instrument ratings, and they would like to be able to use their LSAs to get through a thin cloud layer.

Maintenance and TBOs: The maintenance community has found several objections within the NPRM. It appears that changes could cause a loss of privilege for LSA owners who have taken training to perform basic maintenance on their own LSAs.

In addition to altering the privileges of light sport repairman mechanic (LSRM) certificate holders, MOSAIC adds capabilities such as electric propulsion, hybrid, turbine, and powered-lift devices, which leaves the mechanic-training industry guessing where to start. Some organizations wonder if it’s worth the investment to create appropriate courses with uncertain privilege at the end.

Indeed, eight training organizations suggested they would petition for an extension to the comment period. It was successful, so the extension will delay the expected arrival of the finished MOSAIC regulation. Absent any extension, the FAA has repeatedly said 16 months were needed, equating to the end of 2024 or early 2025.

One group creatively suggested using add-on training modules to solve the problem in much the same way that endorsements can be used to solve pilot training enhancements.

Lack of sector expertise: The FAA knows a great deal about conventional, three-axis airplanes but far less about so-called “alternative LSAs.” For machines that use different control systems or operate substantially differently than airplanes—weight shift and powered parachutes come to mind—some industry experts believe a better system is to authorize an industry organization to manage these sectors. This has been common throughout Europe for many years and could work well in the U.S.

In a document of its size, some errors will arise and some clarifications will be needed. It is only a proposal after all. Pilots can comment on certain aspects but will have little idea how the FAA can or will solve various points, even if they offer solutions.

This frustrates some readers and can cause uncertainty about a pending or planned airplane purchase. In turn, purchase-decision delays frustrate airplane manufacturers. That’s the precarious terrain surrounding new regulations. Such comments on regulation are part of the American way, where the citizens can be part of the process. Here’s your chance to speak and be heard.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Pilots Have Questions When It Comes to MOSAIC appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In a boardroom cross-country—literally—from where I sat, former Cessna president and CEO Jack Pelton had closed the deal, yes, buying “certain assets of the Columbia Aircraft Company.” His excitement about the purchase rang through the few lines of text—for the airplanes Textron had just bought as well as the potential for growing Cessna’s foothold in an evolving piston marketplace. And from that moment, my own relationship unfolded with the airplane. What started as the Columbia 400 could have taken the high-performance, piston-single segment by storm, born of the Lancair heritage. It would become the Cessna 400—known briefly by its marketing name, Corvalis TT—and finally, in its most recent edition, the Cessna TTx.

The type designation—Cessna T240—would place it atop the hierarchy of Cessna singles, but it began life as an offshoot of a popular kitplane, the Lancair ES. Lancair formed a new business entity, Columbia, to oversee the development and manufacture of the 300, followed by the 350, then the 400, under Part 23. The company was new to the process of type certification, but not to high-performance aircraft development, and this resulted in a string of airplanes determined to knock a pilot’s socks off with their ability to go fast, maneuver fearlessly, and look nothing short of awesome doing it.

• READ MORE: We Fly: Garmin Autoland for the Beechcraft King Air 200

Columbia upgraded the original 300 (FAA type certificated in 1998) to the 350 with the addition of an optional glass panel—Avidyne’s Entegra primary flight display—in 2003, along with the more powerful, turbocharged 400, right up until the company dissolved in 2007. Columbia achieved the airplane’s stall speed requirement with a multiphase wing, moving the aerodynamic stall inboard and limiting up elevator travel and left rudder pedal range. These changes resulted in an airplane that could be certified under the FAA’s definition of spin resistant—unable to enter a spin even with pro-spin inputs. Recovery would come from normal anti-spin procedures, as opposed to the ballistic recovery parachute system required by its primary competitor, the Cirrus SR20 and SR22.

Westbound

The only visible moisture we touched in 933 nm between Hagerstown, Maryland, and Wichita, Kansas, came during the takeoff roll at KHGR—wisps of mist that had suppressed the visibility below a quarter mile for the hour prior to our departure still wavered across the wide runway. As soon as we lifted off, we left it behind and continued our climb over the first folds of the Appalachian hills, as I revisited the TTx in September.

As we cut a path through the sky westbound above the scattered threads of valley fog, I thought of the last cross-country I made in an SR22T. Yes, the newer avionics of the Cirrus have had the benefit of continuous evolution—the TTx suffers from a paralysis in updating the G2000, such that its capabilities seem encased in amber.

• READ MORE: We Fly: WACO YMF-5

The touchscreen control pad—called by the model designation GTC—went under development with Garmin immediately after the acquisition, as one of the primary components of the G2000—a two-big-screen integrated flight deck driven by softkeys on the display bezels as well as remotely through the GTC. This formed the foundation that Garmin would leverage into the G3000 we now find on single-engine turboprops and on up the food chain. Thus the lack of a Perspective doesn’t hit as keenly—you still feel like you’re in a modern cockpit though the architecture is now 10-plus years old.

Cessna worked in concert with Garmin on the development of the touchscreen and exactly how the pilot actions would activate the controls on the display. Though it appears to be actuated by the heat of a finger—as our smartphones do—early versions introduced crisscrossing beams across the screen that would be interrupted by the presence of the pilot’s finger. But just breaking the beam wouldn’t be enough to activate the “button” on the screen below—a deliberate pause and stroke was required. This action has been refined in subsequent models of the GTCs—but it was intriguing to give my input to the product management team during the testing phase in Cessna’s R&D lab in Wichita in the early 2010s.

The Way-Back Machine

Continuing the flashbacks: Now we’ll move forward a bit to 2014. I’d joined Jeppesen as a senior manager in aviation courseware development—but was ready to strike out on my own. I decided to take back two familiar roles—working on a book and flight instructing. I paired up with a retired race car driver and engineer who had just bought a 2012 TTx on the preowned market through the local Cessna piston sales dealer in the Denver metro area. He needed a bit of transition training as he pursued his instrument rating. But he felt clearly comfortable with the TTx’s speed and nimble coupling, given his background. The TTx fit him and his personality like a glove.

• READ MORE: Today’s Top AircraftForSale.com Pick: Cessna TTx, the ‘Other Cirrus’?

We headed to Independence, Kansas, for the factory-led portion of his TTx training—and my refresher course in the model since I’d left Cessna. In fact, KIDP was the scene where just a couple of years ago I’d seen the TTx fuselages join together from their composite halves on the production line as the company sorted through the best way to replicate the former Columbia Aircraft factory in Bend, Oregon. I’d visited that facility as well—in February 2008, Cessna held a sales meeting in Bend, and members of the team toured the compact production line, with clearly skilled craftsmen attending to each unit. The initial promise to keep production within the hands of this dedicated team boded well—as well as retaining a beautiful location for customer delivery and training—but internal and external economic forces in late 2008 and 2009 conspired against that original business plan.

For the likes of Six Sigma-led Cessna to pick up that work and translate it to a line more like that of its legacy singles, such as the 172, 182, and 206, it would be a feat—but made more so by the nature of the Columbia airplanes’ composite construction. At the time, most composite work for Cessna was completed at the TAM facility in Mexico, but these were nonstructural components like fairings and nose bowls. The entire fuselage required a complex layup process beyond that kind of work. Still, Textron forced the movement of production from Bend to Chihuahua. As it turned out, the need wasn’t properly identified to upgrade all the environmental systems at the Mexico plant to properly address the layup and curing via autoclave of the carbon fiber and Kevlar composites used in the Columbia design—and early serial numbers on the Cessna 400 suffered. Delamination in a handful of wings—discovered in an FAA flight test when an integrated fuel tank in the wing leaked—torpedoed the 400’s reputation in the market.

The move of more production and assembly to Independence, and the rebranding and upgrades to the model to create the TTx, sought to assuage those issues. However, the loss of confidence—however temporary and well addressed—combined with Cirrus Aircraft’s powerful presence and success in the market gave the TTx too far to go to make up lost ground. Though 110 units sold in 2008—the last of the Bend-built Columbias— sales never reached beyond the double digits per quarter, even after the upgrade to the TTx. In the end, Cessna ceased production on the TTx in 2018, with a total of 704 400s and TTxs built.

Pelton offers the perspective of reflection after 15 years have passed since Cessna made the transition from Bend production to Kansas and Mexico: “The economic downturn of 2008 really forced things, making it necessary to move the line away from Oregon where the knowledge base for composite layup was, as well as a great place to have customer deliveries.” That stumble cost dearly, along with a couple of other key delays, one in bringing FIKI certification into play, and the other in failing to market well on the strength of the airplane aerodynamically over its competitors.

Yeah, Baby!

Yes, shunning the TTx as weak in any way would be a serious mistake. In fact, the 400 from which it derived carries a utility category certification, meaning it actually has as a limit load factor of 4.4 positive Gs—and minor aerobatic chops as a result. Legendary airshow pilot

Sean D. Tucker nabbed the Columbia 400 for use in his Tutima Academy of Flight Safety in 2006—and if you search his name and the model on YouTube, you’ll find an inspiring video of the master taking the 400 through a graceful routine. The FAA granted a reclassification of the stock 400 into an experimental airworthiness certificate so that it could be flown in aerobatic and upset prevention and recovery training. And that’s what Tucker used the mount for, as it closely resembles the airplanes many pilots fly for themselves—as opposed to an Extra 330—yet it provided a slightly wider envelope for maneuvers. Though Tucker no longer offers the 400 as part of the academy’s portfolio, the legacy remains meaningful.

So don’t get any ideas about taking a TTx out for a loop and a roll—just know that the model carries this strength forward, along with impressive maneuverability and a real appeal to hand-flying pilots. The Columbia 400s came with carved mahogany flight control sticks mounted on the side panels—left for the pilot, right for the copilot—and they are true sticks, with a natural range of motion and articulation. When I had the chance to put the now leather-wrapped stick in my hand during our flight to Wichita, it was like greeting an old friend who falls into step next to you.

Cruise Control

For our two-leg mission to Wichita, we planned a stop at Spirit of St. Louis Airport (KSUS) on the north side of the metro area on the western banks of the Mississippi River near where the Missouri River joins it. At 8,000 feet, we kept 150 kias and 175 ktas most of the way, with a little more or less in spots. The weather gods not only blessed us with clear skies but also a mere breath of a headwind, which translated into a crosswind somewhere over Illinois.

A quick fuel-up and turn at Signature Flight Support at KSUS—and chicken tenders and waffle fries for the road—had us off again for a two-hour jaunt across Missouri and into Kansas for the slide into the bumps below the LCL and Eisenhower National Airport (KICT). We arrived in comfort and style, as we weaved through the obstacle course of construction to the ramp at Yingling Aviation.

For our troubles, we averaged about 15.8 gph on both legs, taking a total of roughly 100 gallons of 100LL to make the journey halfway across the country in about six hours. Try getting from door to door, Maryland to Wichita, in less than that on the airlines. I dare you.

Any Gotchas?

The twin turbochargers on the Continental TSIO-550 respond well to careful management—and replacing them is not cheap. Nor is making up for any damage they might do if pressed to failure, so they’re worth treating nicely.

When you do, however, you’re rewarded with great performance figures across the board. The TTx can get off the ground in a relatively short distance: a 1,300-foot ground roll, with 1,900 feet to over a hypothetical 50-foot obstacle in sea-level standard conditions, as shown in the book values and as I witnessed many times in practice. It will land just as short, as far as ground roll is concerned—1,250 feet—but you need to budget a bit more space for the whole trees-at-the-end approach at around 2,700 feet.

Just as with the SR series, speed control on final rewards the pilot and helps to avoid the dreaded runway overrun that plagues high-performance singles. One area in this regard where the SRs have an edge? The approach flap speed has been raised to 150 kias on SR22s—while the TTx’s remains at a painfully slow 127 kias. Fortunately, the TTx has speed brakes to help you slow down and get down at the same time. You will use them all the time—there’s no speed restriction on them (apart from VN_E)—just have them tucked in before you touch down.

The Columbia 400 originally came with an optional E-Vade anti-ice system on the wings, which used heat-conducting panels to shed the ice. However, it didn’t come certificated for flight into known ice (FIKI). Whether to add the option was debated within Cessna ranks until finally the TKS “weeping wing” de-icing system was introduced in March 2012, with full FIKI certification coming in June 2014. The TKS Ice Protection system offers up to 2.5 hours of icing protection—but that translates into 10.15 gallons at a hefty 9 pounds per gallon weight for a total of 91.4 pounds fluid weight—137 pounds for the system.

On the Market

You’ll want to search for the Columbia 400, Cessna 400, Corvalis, and TTx in order to capture all of the possible models existing on the market. At press time, I found roughly 20 TTxs available, mostly in the U.S. but a few overseas. The original 400 gained FAA type certification in April 2004 under Lancair’s direction, and European Union Aviation Safety Agency approval followed in 2009.

Pricing runs the gamut—from the mid-$300,000s to just north of $700,000—depending on equipment, total time, and location. But most appear to have between 900 and 2,000 hours, reflecting flight time of 100 to 200 hours per year since new. With the TBO at 2,000 hours, the cost of a new big-bore Continental or its overhaul may need to be factored into your purchase price.

Still, with the SR22Ts of the same vintage asking an average from $699,000 and up in Aircraft For Sale, the TTx looks mighty attractive on the spreadsheet. But the numbers tell only a small part of the story. As with all airplanes for which we harbor grand affections, the real joy comes in the flying.

Accelerated Bliss: Flying the Cessna 400 Series Was a True Pleasure

By Pia Bergqvist

In my 24-plus years of flying, I have been fortunate to take the controls of many different types of airplanes. Like adopted children, the two airplanes I have owned—Peppermint Patty, the Cessna 170, and Manny, the Mooney—occupy the softest part of my pilot heart. But the airplane that brought me the most enjoyable personal flying experience was one that, like some favorite children, bears many names. It started out as the Columbia 400, became the Cessna 400 when I first flew it, and was later renamed Corvalis TT and TTx.

I was one of four Cessna 350/400 product specialists (the 350 being the non-turbocharged version) spread around the country when the company took over and started marketing the aircraft type in 2008. Emily Waters covered the West Coast, Doug Walker the Northeast, and Kel Jones the Southeast—all three were previous Columbia pilots. I was new to the airplane, and my territory spanned from New Mexico to Tennessee and South Dakota to Texas. It might appear to be a large area for a single-engine piston four-seater. But covering the region in this sports car with wings was no trouble at all.

I will never forget traveling to Bend, Oregon, where the factory was located at the time, to pick up my first demo airplane. The terrific team of employees there gave me first-class treatment, as if I was a customer. There was a sign bearing my name standing in front of a factory-new Cessna 400—a black, silver, and white beauty—N86DE. The production quality was stellar, with flawless composite production, paint finishing, and interior and avionics installation. It was easy to proudly represent the airplane for the Wichita, Kansas-based company.

In no other airplane have I been able to sit as comfortably, with my left hand on the sidestick and the right hand on the keypad that manipulated most functions on the G1000 MFD—the flight deck installed in the 400 before the TTx moved up to the G2000. I had many long days in that seat, without even a hint of discomfort. While the Cessna 350/400 was equipped with the terrific GFC 700 autopilot, I hand-flew the airplane on most legs. It was simply a really fun airplane to fly, with enough maneuverability to satisfy one of the best aerobatic airshow performers of all time—Sean D. Tucker (yes, there are YouTube videos to prove it). In fact, the airplane earned well its certification in the utility category.

And the Cessna 400 got me where I needed to go quickly. I could count on around 200 ktas at 10,000 feet, but if I wanted to go faster, I simply hooked on to the built-in oxygen system and climbed higher. On one flight from Independence, Kansas, to Memphis, Tennessee, I reached 306 knots ground speed. Walker was kind enough to send me a patch, inaugurating me into the 300-knot club of Columbia pilots.

In the nearly 600 hours I was fortunate enough to fly the Cessna 400 and 350, I flew from coast to coast to dealers and airshows, and I took countless friends and strangers for rides. Many fond memories were forged in that airplane, and I hope, one day, I will return to that blissful seat.

Controls/Instruments at a Glance

A. The TTx featured the first—and perhaps only— Garmin G2000 integrated flight deck in a piston single. It works quite well, but the upgrade path is uncertain at this point.

B. The first of the GTC touchscreen controllers—a single one—came with the introduction of the Corvalis model.

C. The Continental TSIO-550 up front requires management of the twin turbos, but a robust engine information system display aids with keeping everything in the green.

D. The beautiful, wood sidestick flight control in the Columbia 400 transitioned to a leather-wrapped model, but it still falls comfortably to hand and maneuvers with ease throughout the significant flight envelope.

E. The GFC 700 takes FMS input for smooth climbs and descents tracking a flight plan.

2013 Cessna TTx Specs

Price New, Avg. Equipment: $810,000

Price, 2023: $450,000 to $700,000

Engine: Continental TSIO-550-C (310 hp) TBO: 2,000 hours

Propeller: McCauley, three-blade, constant speed

Seats: 4

Wingspan: 36 ft.

Wing Area: 141.2 sq. ft.

Wing Loading: 25.5 lbs./sq. ft.

Length: 25 ft., 2 in.

Height: 9 ft.

Baggage Weight: 120 lbs.

Standard Empty Weight: 2,520 lbs.

Max Takeoff Weight: 3,600 lbs.

Max Landing Weight: 3,420 lbs.

Max Useful Load: 1,070 lbs.

Fuel: 106 gal./102 gal. usable

Max Rate of Climb: 1,400 fpm

Service Ceiling: 25,000 ft.

Stall Speed (landing config.): 60 kias

Max Cruise Speed: 235 ktas

Max Range: 1,250 nm

Normal Range: 502 nm with 3 passengers (Conklin & deDecker/JSSI)

Takeoff Distance, Sea Level (over a 50 ft. obs.): 1,900 ft.

Landing Distance, Sea Level (over a 50 ft. obs.): 2,700 ft.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post We Fly: Cessna TTx appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I first learned of Rocco from a video posted on a website called “Lucky Lab Rescue.” He looked like the lab mix he was reported to be. Tellingly, he had no “bio.” Usually dogs up for adoption have been fostered and their traits have been cataloged. “Needs lots of space to run” and “not good with children” are a couple of red flags. Rocco had none. He was cute, if a little “mouthy,” on the 20-second video, so my wife, Cathy, and I arranged to have him join a caravan of dogs being shipped from the Midwest to the good folks of New England. Apparently, there is a well-worn path for dogs abandoned at kill shelters to adoption facilities in the Northeast.

We have had excellent luck with labs and lab mixes. We knew Rocco first showed up in a kill shelter in Kentucky and was transferred to a veterinary technical school in Indiana. From the paperwork that accompanied him, we found that he had been used for students to practice putting him under anesthesia and drawing his blood. I’m thinking that might give a fellow an attitude.

It did. Surprisingly, his animosity is not toward humans but dogs. It took several surprise attacks against friends’ and neighborhood dogs before we learned to keep him separated from all canines. His vet hospital and human emergency department visit bills topped 10 grand before we got the picture. We spent similar amounts on dog training with the graduation certificates as proof.

“Why don’t you put him down?” We heard this a lot. There was one problem: We were falling in love. With the kids, grandkids, furnace repair guy, and the pest man, he was an enthusiastic lab love. Our vet said, “I will not put a dog down for dog aggression. Your job is to keep him safe.” That sealed it.

Rocco’s first flight and first airplane was in our 1980 Piper Cheyenne I. He acted like it was natural to scurry up the airstairs and to make himself comfortable in an empty seat. When that became uncomfortable, he’d come forward, put his front paws on the wing spar, and peer into the flight deck with a bemused expression. “Can’t this thing go any faster?” he seemed to say. He’d stare in hypnotic trance at the blinking reply light on the transponder.

It wasn’t long before we decided to buy a jet. Three years of Part 135 flying had finally taught me how, and I felt comfortable with single-pilot jet ops. We bought a Raytheon Premier 1. With its magnificent height, imposing airstairs, and lavish interior, not to mention Pro Line 21 avionics, I was in heaven.

Apparently, so was Rocco. It gradually dawned on us that perhaps this dog had been fibbing about his background. He climbed into the Premier and looked around as if to say, “This is all you got?” I wondered if he’d actually belonged to a family with a Gulfstream. We sent off his DNA to see if he was related to a Rockefeller, but no joy.

Still, he got awfully cozy awfully quickly, though he seemed to look askance at the ornate gold fixtures—not the kind of thing a well-bred dog would accept for haute couture.

• READ MORE: Rescue Dogs and Airplanes

When an errant pelican commuting at 4,500 feet dinged the wing, we sought the comfort of a Cessna Citation CJ1. Not quite as fast as the Premier, but never as maintenance needy, the airplane fit like a glove. Rocco claimed a seat, which we protected with a sheet. There was no question this was a smaller seat than the one to which he had been accustomed, but he took the indignity like a lab. He logged hundreds of trouble-free hours curled up in a ball and ready to party when he arrived.

Alas, my abilities as a dog aircraft provider atrophied with age, and we had to sell the CJ1 owing to insurance costs for “elderly” single-pilot jet ops. Looking to be “unleashed” myself from the aerospace medical boys and girls in Oklahoma City, I chose BasicMed. This led to a fine Beechcraft P-Baron.

And guess what? This is the most comfortable airplane for Rocco. He leaps easily into the back cabin, and the rear seats are so close together that he now effectively has a bench seat. This allows uninterrupted sleep for hours and hours. Rocco is good at this. It’s one of his finest skills. This is a good thing as his commute has become longer and regularly features a tech stop. At such interruptions, he parades around the FBO while Cathy and I keep an eye out for some unsuspecting fellow dog traveler.

We’d hate for him to have a rap sheet in another state. His countenance at the high-end FBOs could be best described as expectant. Just don’t let him spot a Chihuahua with a rhinestone collar—the fur will fly. So far, so good, though—just a dog and his airplane in harmony.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Master of Airplanes: Rocco Is One Lucky Lab, Indeed appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Fearless when it comes to busting into places where other—often more competent—flyers and writers are reluctant to go, I decided to give it a try. After all, who has more firsthand knowledge of what happens when this very real, deep-rooted part of us is sabotaged by events such as a denied medical or insurance, a financial problem, or even something as weird as flying under a bridge? (And, no, I didn’t turn my transponder off!)

It can’t be “genetic.” After all, there were no powered airplanes until 120 years ago and, for many years after Wilbur and Orville figured it out in 1903, few people flew or owned one. Then, beginning with ex-World War I flyers who became the daredevil barnstormers and mail pilots of the 1920s and ’30s and feats of Lindbergh, Earhart, Post, and other household names, publicity and interest grew. In the years following World War II, a bunch of “little” airplanes appeared that were simple enough that almost anybody could learn to fly. And aviation was more accessible, affordable, and hugely popular.

Sporty’s Pilot Shop founder Hal Shevers told me one time, “Marf, we lived through the ‘Golden Era of General Aviation.’” And he was right. The 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s were the glory days before airplane prices exploded—as did tomes of onerous regulations and complex airspace restrictions—and insurance requirements, maintenance costs, and manufacturer liability issues mushroomed. Sadly, it was those liability issues and an unacceptable accident rate that began to choke private and small business aviation in the ’80s and ’90s.

But the die-hards stayed with it, forming flying clubs and partnerships, buying and renovating old airplanes, or building experimental models themselves. It was costly, but their obsession made them find a way.

• READ MORE: Let Me Tell You About Tom

Now there’s a desperate need for pilots. With that comes the danger of “enticing” applicants who lack the deep-seated desire and passion but are beguiled by the salaries and prestige that go with being an airline pilot. Flight training schools and universities are eager to enroll students who qualify for generous scholarships— some from the airlines themselves. Others are attracted by the ease of borrowing huge sums to complete “fast-track” training with the promise of an interview and likely a job in the right seat of an airliner. What isn’t advertised is that flight training dropout statistics average 80 percent.

A genuine interest in and aptitude for flying airplanes is a huge blessing for those becoming professional pilots. Despite the growing need for more pilots, it is vital that airline companies don’t lower hiring standards—as has been accused—and put marginally qualified new hires in their cockpits by maybe thinking experience will “fix” the problem.

Flight schools advertise that you’re guaranteed an airline interview by successfully completing their “fast-track” programs. They’ll guide you through the process of logging 1,500 hours of flight and simulator time. Simply sign up, pay something close to $100,000, pass an FAA medical, get a student certificate, and take the dual for solo and solo cross-country signoffs. You’ll learn enough in ground schools to pass the FAA knowledge exams and log enough time and have the skill to pass a private pilot check ride. Ditto for the instrument, commercial, multiengine, and CFI certificates and ratings. And they assure you this can be accomplished in “only seven months.” Then you instruct for the school, earning between $15 and $50 per hour until you accumulate the necessary 1,500 (or, in some cases, 1,200) hours to apply for the right seat with an air carrier. All this is possible in two to three years with no guarantee of actually being hired…and not living in your parents’ basement.

One major carrier has pledged that 50 percent of its new hires will be “people of color and females.” Its program offers scholarships from the Latino Pilots Association, National Gay Pilots Association, Organization of Black Aerospace Professionals, Professional Asian Pilots Association, Sisters of the Skies, and Women in Aviation International. It is hoped that making the training available inspires young people—regardless of sex, color, ethnicity, people who may never have had the opportunity to learn about aviation—to embrace the training. That’s laudable, so long as it doesn’t exclude anyone.

A retired airline pilot friend commented: “Anyone who remembers the Colgan [Air] crash at KBUF [Buffalo, New York, in 2009] should understand the significance of airlines hiring qualified pilots. That accident was a ‘perfect storm’ of pilot incompetence, management failure, weather, and other factors causing the deaths of a planeload of people. Aviation is inherently dangerous, and when incompetent pilots are given the controls of an aircraft filled with people, the situation becomes an accident waiting to happen.”

Here’s a poignant quote from an article in FLYING Magazine in July 1953: “Ten-thousand articles have been written about the ebb of aviation enthusiasm and activity in the land. Apathy to aviation is just one of many indications that 20 years’ education that ‘the world owes me a living’ has wrought havoc with our individual spirits. We babble about Social Security and prate in terms of masses and promise ‘extended benefits.’ …It means we’ve had a flameout of the fire that molded us and gave us power. We’ve stopped running to meet life because that takes faith and courage and pride.”

It was written by no less a personage than Gill Robb Wilson, one of the magazine’s founders and editors, and a World War I combat pilot in France, devoted patriot, founder of the Civil Air Patrol, writer, and poet (and, curiously, a Presbyterian minister). I think his comments apply to young men and women today who look upon aviation training and airline flying as a quick road to success, prestige, and security.

I recently took Theo, a neighborhood kid, up in the Cessna 180 because he’s crazy about aviation and airplanes. Theo is intelligent and amazingly knowledgeable because he reads everything in sight about airplanes and pilots. He’s just beginning high school but, when I asked him if he’d thought about college, he named a large “degree plus aviation training mill” in Florida. I suggested maybe he think about a degree in engineering, business, or whatever at a good college while learning to fly “the old-fashioned way” and then instructing to learn and build time. He’s wired for an airline career, and he’ll make it—with the passion for it well in place.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Need for Pilots Should Not Take the Place of Passion appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Recent years have seen a general drift toward longer spans and higher aspect ratios. The Beechcraft Bonanza has a span of 33.5 feet and an aspect ratio of 6.2; the Cirrus SR22, which might be seen as today’s Bonanza, has a span of more than 38 feet and an aspect ratio of 10.1. The trend is generally toward greater aerodynamic efficiency, partly in response to fuel costs and partly because the increasing use of turbocharging leads to higher cruising altitudes, where longer wings are more at home.

The two airplanes I’ve built, Melmoth and Melmoth 2, are (or were—the first Melmoth was destroyed in an accident long ago) broadly similar, with low wings, T-tails, bubble canopies, retractable gear, and the same 200 hp Continental 360 engine and Hartzell constant-speed prop. The first Melmoth was aluminum, with 2+1 seating; the second is composite and seats four. Both were built with long-distance travel in mind and have lots of internal tankage: Melmoth’s wing and tip tanks held 155 gallons; Melmoth 2’s completely wet wings hold 142 gallons. The two Melmoths, with the same engine, propeller, empty weight, and cabin cross-section, differ significantly in one aspect: wingspan. The first began life with a wingspan of 23 feet and went through 21-foot and 28-foot iterations before its eventual demise. Melmoth 2 has a wingspan of 36 feet but only a little more wing area—106 square feet to the first Melmoth’s 93. (For comparison, the wing areas of most commercial four-seaters range from 145 to 180 square feet.) The first Melmoth’s aspect ratio was 5.75; Melmoth 2’s is 12.6.

Span and area are entangled with one another in the sense that structural strength and stiffness (not to mention space for retracting landing gear) require a certain wing thickness, and that in turn implies a minimum chord (the distance from leading to trailing edge), because airfoils shouldn’t be too thick. So you can’t just increase span willy-nilly without at some point having to increase chord and area as well. However, increasing the wing area, which was originally selected to permit a certain landing speed at a certain weight, adds drag and makes the airplane heavier.

Increased wingspan—other things remaining the same—rewards you with better efficiency and climb rate, and improved high-altitude performance. The first Melmoth had a maximum lift-drag, or L/D, ratio of about 11.8 and a “Breguet range”—a fictional, greatly exaggerated number that ignores takeoff, climb, and varying engine efficiency and assumes that you always fly at a low and ever-decreasing ideal speed—of 3,000 nm. Melmoth 2, with half again the span, has an L/D ratio of 17 and a Breguet range of 3,600 nm, despite carrying 8 percent less fuel. Rate of climb is less strongly influenced by span than L/D and range are, but Melmoth 2, climbing at 1,800 fpm at full power and a typical weight of 2,200 pounds, betters the original Melmoth by about 20 percent.

Note that I said “half again the span” and added nothing about aspect ratio. That is because, contrary to widespread belief, aspect ratio actually does not enter into it. Aspect ratio is generally thought of as the quintessential measure of efficiency, but if you could double an airplane’s wing area (thereby halving the aspect ratio) without increasing its parasite drag, the L/D ratio and Breguet range would remain the same. But you can’t increase wing area without increasing drag and weight, and that’s why aspect ratio becomes important: It’s a measure of how little wing area you can have with a given span.

Curiously, and I think unexpectedly for most pilots, altitude also does not enter into it. You might intuitively suppose that thinner air would make the airplane more efficient, but in fact neither the maximum L/D ratio nor the maximum range is affected by altitude.

You will object that at 8,000 feet you will go faster, with the same fuel flow, than at 2,000 feet. True. But that is because your indicated airspeed is lower. If you flew at the same indicated airspeed and fuel-air ratio at both altitudes, you would find your fuel flow is greater at the high altitude. The reason is that drag at a given indicated airspeed is the same at all altitudes, but the power required to overcome it is proportional to the square of the true airspeed, not the indicated airspeed. At the bestrange speed, the miles per gallon is at a maximum, however, and is unaffected by altitude except to the extent the engine’s efficiency might vary at different settings of manifold pressure and rpm.

• READ MORE: Do Flaps Make Lift?

“Best range” and “best efficiency” are not seen in normal flying. Under actual cruising conditions, Melmoth 2 is not that different from the original Melmoth. The reason is that maximum L/D and the Breguet range assume speeds that are quite low—around 40 percent above the clean stalling speed—and remote from those we actually use. At real-world speeds, 65 percent or 75 percent power, the differences shrink. Melmoth 2 will cruise at 170 knots at 12,500 feet using about 8.5 gallons an hour—about 60 percent of rated power; the first Melmoth would burn about 9.6, around 70 percent power, at the same weight and altitude. So you see that despite a 50 percent improvement in best L/D, the practical benefit of the longer wing is much smaller.

When I designed the first Melmoth, I was strongly influenced by John Thorp and his T-18 homebuilt, whose wing I copied almost exactly. Thorp, who also designed the original rectangular-wing Piper Cherokee, used to say that low aspect ratio wings perform better than theory would lead you to expect, and he was adamant there was no reason to taper the wings of any airplane weighing less than 12,000 pounds. When I designed Melmoth 2, however, I was more influenced by Burt Rutan’s derisive observation that if I intended to fly long distances, I had certainly chosen the wrong wing to do it. Aesthetics, too—hence the long, slender, tapered wing of Melmoth 2, of which Thorp might have disapproved.

For efficiency—the least fuel burned for the most work done—a large wingspan is necessary. But Melmoth 2’s long wing cost it the rollicking roll rate I enjoyed so much in the first Melmoth. Melmoth 2 rolls more like an Airbus. Sometimes, I think I would pay for the extra fuel just to have the rolls back.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post The Importance of Wingspan Can’t Be Underestimated appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Competition is good, and before 2020, we all began to think Microsoft was out of the game, and X-Plane creator Austin Meyer would be the savior, keeping this hobby alive forever. Certainly not swayed by Microsoft’s offerings, Meyer and his team forged ahead, putting the finishing touches on X-Plane 11. X-Plane 12 was released earlier this year after a long beta period. Not forgotten here, or elsewhere, the X-Plane series is continuously updated and developed. In fact, Meyer’s team at Laminar Research is the largest it’s ever been—tiresomely working on X-Plane 12.

I won’t hide the fact that MSFS2020 is gorgeous to look at and has the most stunning aircraft to visually drool over. Photorealistic qualities abound both in the cockpit and view outside. Worldwide satellite imagery turned 3D being fed to you as you fly makes for the most gorgeous earthly renditions I have ever witnessed on a PC. There’s worldwide live weather, even clouds that look real as they are fed via satellite imagery at high resolutions and a fast frame rate. But this can be detrimental to some that lack high-speed connectivity.

Offline play is also nonexistent. The MSFS world will only load well if you’re on a super internet connection. Otherwise, it will struggle and run too poorly to enjoy. Many of the installation issues or updating problems users experience is because of the lack of quality internet connectivity in other parts of the world. With X-Plane, you can still fly offline, anywhere, anytime, hassle free.

But I want to get into detail on one thing. The flight quality in MSFS—although improved since its release—still feels somewhat “too easy, or rail-y.” The development team has openly discussed how new programming of wind on terrain, weather, active thermals, and lift/drag all have improved flight models, and, yes, you can certainly feel the improvements over previous versions. But still something is missing, at least on some default flight models. The lack of momentum, lift being produced on individual surfaces, weight, and weather conditions at hand don’t touch the “blade element theory” X-Plane has rallied with since the beginning.

A Different Model

The realism of the flight model and the pure feel of flying any machine in XP12 is just pure joy. If you have high quality hardware, it’s even more noticeable. As I write this, I am flying a 747-200 with the masterful Honeycomb yoke and a throttle quadrant supporting up to four engines. (Sporty’s Pilot Shop is the place to go for the starter set and run it on a Doghouse Systems Flying Edition core).

I have fallen in love with the Felis 747-200 classic add-on, available for purchase from the x-plane.org online store. This to me is the absolute greatest example of top-end flight dynamics quality, resulting from the XP12 programming. Flying the greatest airliner of all time and being able to feel every aspect is what I love.

You can really feel the momentum to get moving and power required to break away on the tarmac. The sway, moving on body gear steering, is all there all while monitoring your brake temperatures from the flight engineer’s position. The entire cockpit is modeled with every system and switch performing some function with consequences.

I am not a 747 pilot nor engineer, so I really need to spend a lot of time studying all this from profiled documentation or many resources available on the internet. It is a dream to just “do patterns” in this beast—at light weights, pretty agile yet rock solid.

Flying the Felis ‘742’

When considering the Felis “742” in XP12, the lighting, sky, and weather depiction is improved, but jagged shadows and somewhat grainy textures still exist around the cockpit at times. The Felis 742 has an EFB that will calculate the necessary speeds, with corresponding flap settings, takeoff power, etc. This beast will react to weight extremely realistically, and you’ll feel it while hand flying.

The takeoff is the most realistically pleasing of any flight sim aircraft I have ever used in 40 or more years as a simmer. Partially because of XP12 itself and its brilliant modeling, and partially because of this particular aircraft add-on’s quality. As you go barreling down the runway, (don’t forget XPrealistic for the shaking and sounds not included in XP12 by default) the rattling and vibrations come to life. At V_R, you pull hard on the yoke and wait. Nothing happens right away then slowly the “Queen of the Skies” will relinquish her grip on Earth, bringing the nose up to takeoff attitude, and moments later the main trucks will unplant themselves and she’ll break ground. You can feel this with your eyes, and vertical speed, and even with your controls. It’s absolutely amazing—with wings bending and lifting, external flyby views are the best at these moments.

Magnificent in every way, the 747-200 for XP11 and XP12 demonstrates dominating realism—it could be the best rendition of any heavy jet for any flight sim. In cruise you’ll be constantly fiddling with the four power levers to tweak precise fuel flow just like the real 747-200. Holding four levers in your hand with real hardware ups the immersion 10 times, or cheat and use the primitive autothrottle. I will have to wait until the PMDG Simulations team releases its 747-400 series, sometime in the next year I believe, to see if it can outdo this model with the MSFS base. PMDG is the master of flight dynamics for the Microsoft franchise, featuring the 737NG, 747-400, and 777 previous version. But until then, the Felis 742 can not be touched.

Improving X-Plane

The current state of X-Plane 12 is under constant improvement. The folks at Laminar Research are working on some internal graphics enhancements to mesh with all the extra VRAM optimizations currently undergoing to bring XP12 to the next level. I’ve been told that the problems I have experienced with jagged edges, or blocky shadows, etc., will be drastically improved, but it all takes time. It’s a puzzle of memory allocation and individual pixel related algorithms.

Meyer’s efforts are to continually produce the most realistically accurate flight simulator in the world, not a scenery sim or one that showcases your home and driveway below. As we know, those things are in “the other sim.” For now, I have also been enjoying the proven XP11 with the Felis 747 and other top quality add-ons I have purchased over the years. They all perform flawlessly in XP11, from the standpoint of flight dynamics, in a world that is still tried and true. I have no doubt XP12 will dominate everyone’s XP world in the upcoming year or so, sending XP11 to the closet.

What XP12 now offers is a completely new scenery base model, with greater variability of the “plausible world.” The biggest overhaul was with ambient lighting, weather modeling, and effects such as standing water, puddling, spray, and ground icing and its effects on the aircraft at hand. The weather is so cool that I have often placed myself on a ramp, engine off, in silence to hear and watch an incoming squall line blast me.

To take a flight sim aircraft model and place yourself in an area on the ramp in silence, with no engines running, to watch and listen to the weather inbound is a testament to its realism. The roar of thunder, wind, pouring rain, and lightning flashes are the best I have seen. The same with icing, snow squalls and slippery runways, where water will freeze up on you—either all manually driven or via live weather. The XP thunderstorm model will destroy you if you choose to tangle. The MSFS thunderstorm may look good but is weak in comparison. There’s a feeling of danger in XP when it comes to the weather.

Weather Realism

Using live weather will dynamically change as you fly the globe. It’s accurate, fast loading, and works well on a weak internet connection. But a fun exercise is to build the weather manually. X-Plane doesn’t interpret METAR visibility well in automatic weather, limiting it to only 10 miles by default since that’s the upper limit on worldwide METAR reports. This is very annoying, as in-flight visibilities often go far above 100 miles. The XP world always looks too hazy. By taking auto weather off, and manually controlling it, you can enjoy all the preloaded winds aloft, etc., and then raise the visibility to something more fitting.

• READ MORE: Testing Live Weather and Winter Wonders Along the Way

Manually building more believable cumulus clouds and thunderstorms is great. For those of you who don’t like the automatically made clouds, try making a scattered layer of cumulonimbus with no rain, no change, and steady state. You’ll get some very believable puffy clouds on an otherwise nice day. Be sure to manually add thermals below the bases as well for typical daytime chop. Then make the clouds deteriorate on their own for the next level of greatness with the thunderstorms XP so perfectly demonstrates.

The X-Plane pucker factor wouldn’t be what it is without the ability to set up more than 500 combinations of system failures anytime, anywhere. This powerful tool is another feature that has made XP so incredibly real for flight training, awareness, and other real-life “big picture” skills that home simulators can perfect. From bird strikes and the resulting random damage to faulty maintenance that could lead to an aileron coming off sometime unexpectedly, it’s all there. Not for the faint of heart, yet absolutely necessary for one’s skills and processing strengths as a sim or real-world pilot.

The add-on market of available fully detailed systems for loaded aircraft is strong. Operating them in the X-Plane world (either version) gives the desktop pilot the best feel for what that particular real-life aircraft counterpart flies like.

This feature first appeared in the October 2023/Issue 942 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Ultimate Realism ‘X-posed’ in 747-200 Classic appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Among various aircraft models, some are the equivalent of basic condominiums. Nothing fancy, reasonably common, and generally straightforward to own and live in with few headaches or surprises. A Cessna 172 and Piper Cherokee would fall into this category nicely, serving as fantastic first airplanes that are easy to own, fly, and maintain.

But many people eventually outgrow their starter homes and want more out of house ownership. A garden, perhaps, or possibly a pool. Maybe some more square footage and garage space. A home that demands more attention and upkeep but one that also provides a richer, more in-depth ownership experience.

Similar opportunities abound to take airplane ownership to the next level, and the two types featured here do so in their own unique ways. The Navion, with its 1940s-era lineage and systems that bear more similarity to a T-6 Texan than a 172, demands more knowledge and attention than the simplest types, but its unique military background and extensive community of friendly, dedicated owners make it a type with which few will ever become bored.

Similarly, the rarity of the Meyers 200 demands that each owner becomes something of an aeronautical curator. With around 125 examples built and only 78 remaining on the FAA registry, an owner must sharpen their sleuthing skills and network to source certain parts and experienced maintenance. The flying techniques, mechanical nuances, and subtle design features are not an instant Google search away. But support among Meyers owners is passionate and generous, and newcomers are enthusiastically welcomed into the tightly knit fold.

Here, we explore each type and compare what it offers owners beyond the basic performance specs.

Design and Evolution

From the outside and from a distance, the Meyers and Navion appear somewhat similar. Both are low-wing, retractable-gear singles. Both emit the growl of 6-cylinder engines, primarily 200 to 285 hp Continentals. And both provide their occupants with panoramic visibility out of an array of windows. But approach them for an up-close look, and significant differences become apparent.

On the ramp, the Navion stands taller than any single-engine, low-wing piston this side of a Mooney Mustang. More than a foot taller than the Meyers and more than 3 feet longer in both length and span, the Navion is a massive, truck-like machine with a cabin volume that follows suit. For pilots who appreciate roominess in a cabin or simply enjoy the feel of flying a large, substantial aircraft, few single-engine piston options top the Navion.

The Meyers is a compact, svelte machine by comparison. But a glance at the specs reveals some hidden surprises. Despite the smaller size, its empty weight is nearly identical to the larger Navion, but with 22.5 fewer square feet of wing area, the numbers hint at the higher-speed capability of the Meyers. Per each company’s data, the smaller Meyers has an inch more cabin width than the Navion—another indication that one of these types abandoned ease of production in favor of meticulous engineering.

The Meyers 200 was certified in 1958 and saw small, methodical improvements through the course of its production run, which came to an end in 1967. The first production model was the 200—only two examples were built, and they were both equipped with the 240 hp Continental O-470M engine. The 200A replaced the 200, and the change upgraded the engine to the 260 hp IO-470D.

In 1961 came the introduction of the Meyers 200B, which had an improved panel layout as well as a higher structural cruising speed and redline. This was replaced by the 200C, which incorporated a taller passenger cabin and larger windshield. The 200D was the final model with a 285 hp IO-520 and a flush-riveted wing. Together, these enhancements produced a notable improvement in speed to the tune of 210 mph at 7,500 feet and 75 percent power.

Partway through the production run of the 200D, Aero Commander purchased the type certificate and tooling and continued building the airplane as an Aero Commander 200D in its plant in Albany, Georgia. Later, the Interceptor Corp. purchased the type and marketed the airplane under that name but never sold any examples. Because both Meyers and Aero Commander produced the 200, however, it’s important to search for classified listings under both manufacturers so no options stay hidden and unnoticed.

Similarly, between 1946 and 1962 the Navion was manufactured by a number of different OEMs, all of which should be searched for when shopping for one of your own. Initially built by North American Aviation in the 1940s, the Navion was later constructed and sold by the Ryan Aeronautical Co., and finally, the Navion Aircraft Co. and Navion Aircraft Corp.

By the time production ended, more than 2,600 examples of the aircraft had been produced. Toward the end of the run, the Navion Rangemaster appeared with tip tanks and a traditional roof incorporating one left-side door.

The Navion was not built specifically for the military, and while all military L-17s are Navions, not all Navions are L-17s. Nevertheless, the overall design incorporated a number of systems and features the military found appealing. The hydraulic system which powers the gear and flaps, for example, was easily understood and maintained by service members. Additionally, the robust airframe and landing gear designs were well suited to the unimproved landing areas that military Navions would visit in their liaison role.

Conversely, while various design aspects of the Meyers also emphasized durability and robustness, the airplane was more comparable to a coachbuilt luxury car than a Jeep. Although it incorporated features such as a chrome-moly steel cage wrapped around the passenger cabin, the overall design is more complex and would prove decidedly more time-consuming to manufacture than the utilitarian Navion.

Market Snapshot

Other than price, useful load can be the most notable difference between the two. Given the relative rarity of each type, it’s perhaps not surprising the sample size of the examples available on the open market follows suit. In our survey, we were only able to find two Meyers and seven Navions listed for sale. Like other types, the value of each has climbed significantly in the past few years, and the difference in value between the two types corresponds with the consensus among owners that the Meyers tends to be the pricier of the two.

An analysis of the FAA registry reveals that while the number of actively registered examples has naturally and predictably decreased among both types, a higher percentage of Meyers aircraft remain. Of the 125 examples built, 78 (62 percent) are still active on the registry. In comparison, only 33 percent (858) of the 2,634 Navions built remain in the database. The reasoning behind this is unclear, but it’s possible the rarity of the Meyers motivates owners to repair badly damaged 200s and return them to service rather than part them out.

Whether shopping for a Meyers or Navion, a prospective buyer would be wise to engage with the owners’ group to inquire about unlisted examples and possibly connect with current owners beginning to entertain the idea of selling. In addition to benefiting from sneaking into line ahead of other buyers, an airplane owned by an active member of that type’s owners’ group will likely have been better cared for than one possessed by an inactive, uninvolved owner or estate.

Flight Characteristics

One of the most significant differences between the Navion and Meyers becomes apparent during the boarding process. With the exception of the later Navion Rangemasters that incorporated a traditional roof and left-side cabin door, all standard Navions have a large canopy that slides back on rails to provide access to the entire cabin. Not unlike a Grumman AA-5, you step from the wing into the cabin and lower yourself directly down into the seat.

The Navion’s canopy exhibits pros and cons. On the one hand, the ability to completely open it makes it very easy to access the front or rear seats and similarly smooth to load oversized baggage. Opening the canopy on a hot day during taxi provides a refreshing blast of air through the entire cabin—and it can even be opened in flight.

A downside to the canopy is the challenge it presents concerning the installation of shoulder harnesses. With no fixed overhead anchor points to attach them, most owners fly their Navions with only lap belts. Some install lap belts with integrated airbags for an additional layer of safety, and a few have installed custom-built frames behind each front seat that provide a place to mount shoulder harness anchors. But while there are solutions, it’s a concern with which the Meyers and Rangemasters, with their traditional doors and roof, need not contend.

Settling into the Navion, it’s easy to appreciate the vast amount of space in general and shoulder/headroom in particular afforded by the larger airframe. While various sources list actual cabin widths to be roughly within one inch of each other, the Navion feels notably more roomy at and above shoulder height, particularly compared to pre-D-model Meyers 200s. Navion owners report this space is greatly appreciated by their passengers, who are able to freely move between the front and back seats on longer flights.

In flight, the Navion is far slower than the Meyers in cruise, but its large flaps provide a 12 knot lower stall speed and fantastic low-speed handling qualities that make it comfortable to negotiate on short strips. Using the IO-520 as a baseline, the Meyers will cruise at roughly 180 knots compared to 145 to 150 knots in the Navion. As both will burn the same 13.5 gallons per hour in cruise, the Meyers becomes noticeably more economical to fly as the planned distances increase.

Both types exhibit fantastic handling characteristics, with the Meyers having a slight edge by virtue of torque tubes and pushrods in lieu of control cables. Both provide excellent, stable instrument platforms, and both have successfully welcomed new low-time private pilots to the ranks without issue. One owner who earned their private pilot certificate in a 172 and bought a Navion with 90 hours of total time reported feeling comfortable in it after around 10 hours of dual.

Although neither type possesses any unique pitfalls or traps into which unsuspecting newcomers might fall during initial training, it is advisable to locate an instructor intimately familiar with the type for transition training. Instructors can be found in each respective type group. Several have been formed, such as the American Navion Society (ANS, navionsociety.org) and the Meyers Aircraft Owners Association (MAOA, meyersaircraft.org). The cost of airfare and lodging to bring a qualified instructor to your location is regarded as money well invested.

• READ MORE: Air Compare: Grumman AA-5 vs. Mooney M20 Series

Ownership

Both the Navion and Meyers are unique enough to warrant a special effort for a high-quality, thorough prepurchase inspection. When arranging one, it is desirable to proactively join the type group for the object of your interest— MAOA or ANS. For a nominal membership fee, one can engage with the group and become connected with qualified mechanics who are intimately familiar with the intricacies of each respective type.

In the world of Navion, owners commonly mention two specific pieces of advice. They point out that because of the wide range of subtypes and selection of supplemental type certificates available for the airframe, no two Navions are alike. Additionally, they caution against purchasing certain engine/propeller combinations.

With regard to the less-desirable engines and propellers, the concern is less with the components themselves but rather the availability of parts and service. The geared Lycomings, such as the GO-435 and GO-480, for example, are not well supported by the manufacturer, and the number of engine shops that will even consider performing overhauls on them is dwindling. Similarly, replacing the rare, splined Hartzell propeller fitted to certain engines can be cost prohibitive. Owners advise spending more upfront to acquire a Navion with a more easily serviceable engine and prop rather than deal with such headaches down the road.

While Navion owners report no onerous or burdensome recurring airworthiness directives (ADs) with which to contend, the Meyers boasts an airframe with zero airworthiness directives since introduction—a claim not commonly seen among comparable types. When shopping for a Meyers, the limited production numbers do not allow a prospective owner to become choosy, but fortunately, there are no subtypes or modifications regarded as ones to avoid. If one has the luxury of multiple examples from which to choose, three primary factors come into play—general condition, engine horsepower, and the taller passenger cabin of the 200D.

Corrosion is far less of a problem for the two types than others of the era. In the case of the Meyers and earlier Navions, each manufacturer enthusiastically slathered the airframes in alodyne and zinc chromate to protect the metal. Later Navion manufacturers were less generous with the protectants, but nevertheless, corrosion issues typically don’t haunt either airframe.

With both types, it’s critical to buy from an owner who has willingly spent money on preventative maintenance rather than deferring it. Just as ignoring a few missing shingles on a house’s roof can result in structural rot and expensive repairs, deferring repairs on a Meyers or Navion can easily lead to costly, substantial work in the future. An owner with a spotless, meticulously organized hangar and detailed expense records will likely have been a good caretaker of the airplane they’re selling.

Insurance cost is a concern with both types. While owners with substantial time in the models report figures as low as $2,500 at typical hull values, new pilots with little time in type can see quotes as high as $7,000 to $10,000 per year. Some only carry liability insurance, keeping their premiums to $1,000 a year or less. It would be wise to shop around and learn how many hours in type various insurance providers would require to lower their premiums before committing to either type.

Our Take

Like many aircraft comparisons, evaluating the Navion and Meyers head-to-head becomes less a matter of crowning a winner and more about matching the strengths of each to one’s particular preferences.

The Navion is a larger airplane that was optimized for mass production and incorporated robust engineering and systems that were well suited for military use. The owner community is extensive and vibrant, with regular events and fantastic support. The Navion’s military lineage remains strong, with owners conducting regular formation flying clinics and group fly-ins. In today’s market, most Navions can be had for tens of thousands of dollars less than an otherwise comparable Meyers.

The Meyers was designed with the singular goal of achieving fantastic speed and performance with little to no consideration given to simplicity or ease of production. Owners appreciate the steel cage that surrounds the passenger cabin as well as the blistering cruise speed and cross-country capability that make the Meyers the single-engine piston equivalent of a private jet. Although the Meyers community is far smaller than that of the Navion, owners are supportive and happily make resources available to one another, up to and including the original jigs and tooling, in the event an unavailable major airframe part is required.

Beyond the technical strengths and specifications, the less-tangible aspects of the ownership experience differ significantly as well. For an owner interested in the military ancestry of the Navion, that type will provide an entire layer of ownership experience that many other types lack. From the robust metal switchgear to the potential service history of an authentic L-17, these elements are entirely legitimate despite not being quantifiable on a spec sheet.

Similarly, the Meyers offers an ownership experience that might appeal to a sentimental type. An amateur curator of aviation history would relish the opportunity to become a historical caretaker of a rare aircraft type. Similarly, someone with a deep appreciation for careful, methodical engineering would enjoy the intricacies that lie beneath the skin of the Meyers.

Regardless, both options are well loved in their respective circles. For a pilot looking to move up from a more basic, entry-level aircraft into something that presents a greater depth of rewards and challenges, both the Navion and Meyers are likely to provide one’s heart with a long-term home.

Handwrought and Homespun as Quilting…

When FLYING associate editor James Gilbert flew the Meyers 200 for a pilot report in March 1965, he recognized straightaway its purpose: “Know how some airplanes give their game away at a glance? The Meyers 200 is one of these, with its intention written all over it: to go like a bomb.” Yet Gilbert also gave a nod to the handbuilt heritage of the Meyers OTW biplane from which it was born [as well as the Meyers 145 shown below]. Still, it made for “a dastardly attack on the villain drag.”

Conversely, the Navion came to be admired by our editors for its “likable, lumbering ” style, as reported in the May 1973 issue of FLYING. Peter Garrison wrote, “It may have lost out to the [Beech] Bonanza’s speed, but today, a Navion is sought after by people who value good flying manners above sheer velocity.”

This feature first appeared in the October 2023/Issue 942 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Air Compare: Meyers 200 vs. Navion appeared first on FLYING Magazine.