After a few minutes of a steep, rough ride, we emerged into a clearing in the otherwise dense forest. Burn marks surrounded the mysterious, misshapen circle, and the ground was scorched black. Looking around, I could not find the culprit. It looked as if a fiery, pancake meteor had hit the earth, resulting in a non-crater.

Turns out it was an airplane. From the lack of a debris field you could tell the pilot plowed straight into the mountain. They had since removed all of the remains— both man and man-made. Bone and aluminum.

My friend told me the story behind the crash. A gentleman around my age had plans to see his girlfriend in another state. The morning he was set to depart was foggy and near zero/zero. But he was instrument rated and his airplane had a parachute. Let’s go!

From the propeller marks it was later determined the airplane was making power when it hit the ground, so he most likely suffered some type of spatial disorientation— my bet would be somatogravic illusion.

• READ MORE: Conversations in Dispatch Can Get Tricky

I looked around the perimeter and found something in the weeds—a small, melted chunk of aluminum. I stared at the piece of metal in my hand and wondered, “Why didn’t he just wait a few hours?”

I could have titled this column “Pheromones” and made it a more generalized treatise about flying unsafely during courtship. But the truth is women aren’t this stupid. Just us. Men.

A woman would know that a man she liked would still be around in a few hours. They understand the theory of object permanence. Men, we wear blinders. We get tunnel vision. And miraculously, around this one particular subject—unlike, say, mowing the lawn or loading the dishwasher—we never, ever experience mission creep. We never lose the scent, so to speak.

I recently got a full panel of bloodwork done. My doctor called me in and told me that I was generally healthy, but she said the one thing that had changed was my testosterone levels. She explained that they were far lower than they had been in 2016, my last full test. She offered up supplements to bring them back up. I didn’t have to think long… Hard pass. I explained to her that the freedom of not being bound, pinned, and betrothed to that specific hormone was not something I would give up for anything.

In hindsight, if I were given the option to bring my levels down to where they are now back in 1989, I would gladly have done so. I would have made 20 more films, written a hundred more screenplays, and saved a million more dollars on drinks, meals, gifts, and who remembers what else—all working to appease one appendage with an outsized role in my decision-making process.

In the movie Good Will Hunting, Matt Damon’s character wants to “go see about a girl.” He’s very determined. He also has the sense to do this in a sedan and leaves Boston on an unusually sunny day. Well played, Matt. That being said, if he had access to a Bonanza on a typical overcast New England winter morning, I wonder if he would have waited for low IFR to lift before departing. My guess is no.

Most of you know about my incident in Telluride, Colorado, that I have written about extensively in these pages. There was a woman behind that. I had plans to fly to Santa Fe, New Mexico, with someone I had recently met, and whom I did not want to disappoint. Our morning got off to a late start and the winds had picked up. We missed our window. I pushed on. She was very beautiful. I totaled the airplane.

• READ MORE: Some Just Diagnose Problems Better Than Others

In the earliest days of my flying career, when I had only my private pilot certificate and no airplane of my own, I was flying a woman from my home upstate to a racetrack in New Jersey in a rented Piper Cherokee. When we departed KMSV, it was clear and a million, but down at Millville there was a solid overcast about 1,200 feet agl. I looked for a hole. There was none. All my friends were waiting for me just under that shallow cloud layer below us. They had a race bike ready for me to ride. We circled for a few minutes as I weighed the options.

I had the compulsory few hours of instrument training needed for my private under my belt, but nothing more. I knew the terrain fairly well, having flown there on numerous occasions. And apparently that was all I needed to make a horrible (and illegal) judgment call when I decided to slowly spiral down into those clouds. I didn’t even know what an instrument approach procedure was back then.

I kept myself in a steady state turn descending at 500 fpm, knowing/praying the ceilings would spit me out where the ATIS promised. And they did. We landed safely. I explained my drenched shirt as a gland issue. My companion was duly impressed, and I was permitted to mate. But anyone reading this who has flown an airplane knows how easily this could have gone south.

There are other stories. I’ll save them for another time. And no need to call my insurer. With my additional years and commensurate drop in Mountain Dude (testosterone), those days are long behind me. I write about them here so that maybe I’ll reach a young pilot, swimming in hormones who has similar thoughts about what he might do to gain favor in a woman’s eyes.

And I hope no one reads this as anti-female.

Quite the opposite. Ironically, most women would not be impressed by this decision-making in the least. In fact, if they knew the risks you had taken without their consent, you would likely be kicked to the curb. If there were a being on this planet who would understand a flight delay brought on by real safety issues, it would be a woman. Women are patient and understanding and generally risk averse.

And, fellas, gonna let you in on a little secret… If she’s willing to get in an airplane with you at all, you can be sure she already likes you. So, take a cold shower and wait for VFR conditions and common sense to prevail.

To this day, I keep that hunk of melted aluminum in my flight bag. Sometimes I’ll even take it out and hold it. It’s a great reminder of what not to do when you want to “go see about a girl.”

This column first appeared in the December 2023/Issue 944 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post The Things We Men Pilots Do to Impress Women appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The mass arrivals in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, begin on Friday, July 19, at 11 a.m. CST with the Piper Cherokees. Later at 5 p.m., the Cessnas will make the scene. On Saturday, July 21, at 10 a.m., the Mooney contingent will arrive, followed at 1 p.m. by the Bonanzas. On Sunday, July 21, at 10 a.m., the Cirrus group arrives.

How to Get Involved

These group aircraft arrivals are organized by specific type clubs well in advance of the annual aviation convention. To participate, you need to be registered, as there are a limited number of spaces available in the mass arrivals. Move quickly on this since reservations fill up rapidly.

Pilots are also required to attend a flight clinic and to be very familiar with the multipage Notice to Air Mission (NOTAM) issued each year for AirVenture.

• READ MORE: Dates for Next 4 EAA AirVenture Conventions Announced

The mass arrival aircraft stage from an airport near Oshkosh’s Wittman Regional Airport (KOSH).

For pilots who aren’t going to be part of the mass arrival, the times of these events are published in the EAA AirVenture Oshkosh 2024 NOTAM to help with planning. You do not want to cut in line and disrupt the mass arrival—that’s like cutting in on a funeral procession. Just don’t do it.

More information on EAA AirVenture can be found here.

The post AirVenture Announces Group Arrivals appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

We start with the sad, as I wrote several stories about aircraft accidents this year. Often, my airport children (pilots I have trained or mentored) reach out to me when something happens, but we wait to publish anything on these until the NTSB releases its preliminary report. I often interview witnesses, but there will be no speculation. This is a rule.

I approach all of these stories wearing my flight instructor cap. I submit there has to be something to learn from the misfortune of others. This year, I wrote a lot about midair accidents. 

I had several friends at Reno this year, watching the last Reno Air Races. A few of them are lifers, going to the event every year since they were children. Some work in the pits. A few witnessed the collision of the T-6s Baron’s Revenge and Six Cat. Others witnessed the aftermath. One told me how he struggled to explain what had happened to his kids. I think we can all agree it was a horrible way to end the air races at Reno.

Florida Midair

At approximately 2 p.m. on March 7, 2023, there was the collision of a Piper Cherokee and a Piper J-3 Cub on floats at Winter Haven Regional Airport (KGIF) in Florida, that killed four people: two CFIs and two learners. Both were in their respective patterns—the pilot of the Cherokee was attempting a poweroff 180-degree landing to Runway 29, and the Cub was attempting to land at Jack Brown’s Seaplane Base (F57).

20-plus years of experience as a CFI has given me a very healthy respect for see-and-avoid, and expect the unexpected—especially in the pattern, that is so often crowded with pilots of varying abilities. This one was my worst nightmare, especially when I learned the pilot of the Cherokee was a commercial student attending the aviation program at Polk State College. I know people who teach there.

The pilot of the Piper J-3 Cub on floats was also on an instructional flight. As the preliminary NTSB report noted, the J-3 was not equipped with a radio, and radio communications were not required in that airspace, which is Class Echo. The NTSB noted the pilot of the Cherokee announced a left turn to the base leg of the traffic pattern; then the aircraft collided nearly head-on at an altitude of approximately 575 feet msl. The NTSB is still investigating.

Airshow Collision Lawsuit

The November 12, 2022 midair collision of the B-17 Texas Raiders and the P-63 Kingcobra that took the lives of six during the Wings Over Dallas Airshow came back in 2023 when a lawsuit was filed against the Commemorative Air Force, the organizers of the show, on behalf of the family of Len Root, the B-17 pilot. The lawsuit was filed on the grounds of alleged negligence because, according to the NTSB, no altitude deconfliction procedures were briefed before the flight or applied when the airplanes were in the air. 

The lawsuit also names air boss Russell Royce as a defendant for alleged failure to maintain control of the flight paths of the aircraft involved. Altitude deconfliction procedures are established in the event pilots find themselves at an improper altitude during the flight. Several photographs and videos of the event from multiple angles show the P-63 in a turn, coming up behind the B-17 turning with its belly facing the bomber, then colliding with it, slicing the bigger aircraft in half.

McSpadden Accident

When I write about accidents, it involves studying the airport diagrams and the NTSB preliminary report, often recreating the environment that led to the event in an Redbird FMX AATD. It is my attempt to understand what happened, as written in the preliminary report.

When I wrote about one in Florida that was attributed to spatial disorientation caused by a blackhole departure, I duct-taped a black curtain over the entry to the cab of the FMX. I needed a zero-light situation to see what the pilot saw.

I shared this with Richard McSpadden Jr., who was AOPA’s vice president of safety, and often studied and commented on accidents for AOPA’s Air Safety Institute. I often reached out to him for his insights, as we shared the same philosophy about learning from accidents. I had tremendous respect for him, not only for his work with ASI, but also for his experience as a member of the USAF Thunderbirds. We often discussed how instructors could better prepare their learners to avoid these events.

That ended on October 1 when McSpadden and former NFL tight end turned FBO owner Russ Francis were killed attempting to return to Lake Placid Airport (KLKP) in New York. The Cessna Cardinal RG they were flying developed an engine issue shortly after takeoff. Witnesses told the NTSB that the engine sounded as if it was surging. Someone onboard the Cardinal radioed they were returning because of a problem.

The purpose of the flight was to do a photo mission for AOPA. The photo aircraft, a Beechcraft A36, took off first. Per company procedure for photo flights, the pilot/owner of the subject aircraft (Francis) was to fly the airplane during the takeoff, climb-out and landing, and after joining up in formation, the pilot-rated passenger (McSpadden) would take over the controls and fly the airplane, as photo shoots require formation flying.

The airport is on a plateau. There is a single runway, 14/22, measuring 4,196 feet long and 60 feet wide. There are several obstructions, including trees, which according to the NTSB preliminary report measure 77-feet-high located 884 feet from the runway, and 334 feet left of centerline, which required an 8:1 slope to clear. Additionally, there is a 13-foot-high berm with a road 145 feet from the threshold and more trees some 93 feet from the runway. The Cardinal came down short of the runway, nose first into a ravine. There was no fire, but fuel spilled when the wing tanks were compromised. According to witnesses, both men survived the crash but expired a short time later. The NTSB is still investigating the accident.

Like so many, I was stunned and rattled by the accident—so much so that I spent the better part of two hours recreating the event in the Redbird configured like the Cardinal, practicing the improbable turn. If it could happen to Spad, it could happen to me, I thought. A few times, I ended up in the ravine.  Later I spent two hours flying a Cessna 172 with the most experienced instructor I know in the Seattle area. It felt good to get some dual again.

Death by Time Builder

In October, I wrote Death By Time Builder in response to a crash in Kentucky involving an instructor, Timothy McKellar Jr., 22, who did a night cross-country flight in convective weather with l8-year-old private pilot candidate Connor Quisenberry. They were killed when thunderstorms tore the Piper Warrior apart. It is a sad story, made infuriating because McKellar, who had a pronounced social media presence, documented his frustration with the learner–and the approaching thunderstorms via Snapchat during the flight when, as an instructor, he should have been focused on teaching.

According to social media posts, McKellar soloed at Eagle Flight Academy in Owensboro, Kentucky, in 2020 but did the bulk of his training at ATP. He earned his private pilot certificate in spring of 2022, followed by instrument rating and commercial certificates, and in April 2023, his CFI rating. On his social media accounts, he listed ATP as his employer, but the fatal flight originated from Eagle Flight Academy. 

Based on the track recorded by FlightAware, which shows multiple laps in the pattern at Bowling Green, it appears the flight was done to satisfy the three hours of night flying and ten takeoffs and landings required for private pilot certification.

McKellar’s snaps included disparaging observations about Quisenberry’s intellect made during the flight. That is never okay. The CFI needs to be focused on teaching in the cockpit. Put the damn phone down.

The final Snapchat was made on the return leg and shows a preview of the flight path from Bowling Green to Owensboro overlying a radar image showing severe storms heading toward them. McKellar compares them to ‘pissed off hornets,’ noting that they are heading toward them, yet the flight continues with thunderstorms on either side of the proposed track. 

Flying into thunderstorms or trying to outrun them or duck between them screams ‘get there itis,’ and hazardous attitudes invulnerability, macho, anti-authority, impulsivity, and you might say resignation as when working with primary students the instructor is the pilot in command and responsible for the safety of the flight. The fact McKellar allowed the flight to happen at all with convective activity in the forecast is perplexing. 

In the last contact with ATC, McKellar asks for an IFR clearance, reporting the aircraft was being blown around like crazy. ATC gives a heading to turn to. The radar track from FlightAware shows the aircraft passing through the assigned heading, and there was no further communication. The wreckage was found spread over a 25 acre area.

Aeronautical decision making is a big part of learning to fly, and the ability to make good decisions can be compromised when the CFI is more focused on ‘getting it done’ and or social media presence. One wonders if McKellar had good risk management modeled for him as a learner. 

A few weeks after the event I attended the National Association of Flight Instructors (NAFI) summit and this event was a topic of discussion. A great many professional CFIs and Designated Pilot Examiners (DPEs) are concerned about the time builders who rush through training and don’t have the time to mature as educators. Should we trust them to train the next generation of pilots?

When training  centers on passing the check rides and becoming an instructor to build hours, the focus often isn’t on becoming a good teacher, as it is seen as a stepping stone. It’s the learners who pay for this when their CFI demonstrates poor risk management, such as flying into a thunderstorm at night. I submit Quisenberry would have learned much more about decision making had McKellar canceled the flight. And both families would likely still have their sons.

Business Stories

On the business side of aviation, the announcement this month that Alaska Airlines was buying struggling rival Hawaiian Airlines for $1.9 billion got mixed reviews from my airport sons and daughters who fly for both carriers. The acquisition was several months in the making and included Alaska Airlines taking $900 million in Hawaiian Airlines debt. While it may keep the island-based carrier afloat, it is not clear what impact this will have on seniority numbers. It’s just nice to know Hawaiian Airlines won’t disappear.

The Fun Stories

In early July, we asked our readers to help track down the legacy of Captain Jack L. Martin, a World War II-era aviator who went on to help establish the Flying Tiger Line, one of the first cargo airlines in the United States. Captain Martin went west in 1970, so he never met Anne Palmer Martin, who married his son Bob decades later. Palmer Martin was a college classmate of mine, and I was positively over the moon when she offered me the A-2 flight jacket that belonged to Captain Martin after Bob, who had inherited his father’s jacket, went west. It had been in the closet for years, and she hoped I could help her learn more about the jacket and the man who wore it, as I am a collector. Challenge accepted.

The jacket, dry and brittle with age, was carefully restored and photographed, and I reached out to my warbird and vintage jacket aficionados. There was one photograph of a 20-something Captain Martin wearing the jacket and what appears to be a USAAF uniform standing next to another man in uniform at what appears to be an air base. There are T-6s in the background and one of our readers told us the airplane they are leaning on appears to be a Beechcraft AT-11, which was a bombardier trainer during WWII.

We heard from several readers who knew Captain Martin from his civilian flying career. He flew supply missions to the Defense Early Warning line as it was being built during the Cold War and flew over both poles. He was well-liked and a good teacher, they said, and shared a few images of Captain Martin in uniform—including one that also showed Bob as a little boy with his father and sister.

Stuffy the Kitten Makes it Home

The most fun story came out of AirVenture 2023, and really didn’t have much to do with aviation, but rather the way the aviation community pulls together to help each other—that is the story of Stuffy the toy kitty that was accidentally left behind at KidVenture on July 24. Stuffy belongs to 6-year-old Brayden Eveleth of Grandview, Iowa. Eveleth celebrated his birthday at AirVenture, and one of his gifts was the plush toy cat that when microwaved, gives off a lavender scent. According to his mother, Ashley Eveleth, the whole family was distraught when Stuffy went missing while Brayden was distracted by the activities at KidVenture. The family retraced their steps and contacted EAA lost and found looking for the misplaced toy. As luck would have it, EAA volunteer Gary Sternberg posted a photograph of the found plushy cat on Facebook on July 28, urging readers to help the toy get back to its owner. Sternberg told FLYING he understands how important childhood attachment objects are to their owners, so he takes a vested interest in their return.

Real talk: having had a similar experience as a child when Reckless, the orange plush cat that was my copilot on my B-25/fort in the backyard was stolen, I was all over this one. The FLYING story went up on social media, and both it and Sternberg’s post were copied and shared several times over. We were able to track down the Eveleth family, who were overjoyed to hear the toy had been found.

The kind folks at EAA shipped Stuffy home, and Ashley Eveleth shared a video with FLYING of Brayden opening the box in the back of his mother’s car and weeping with joy to see his kitty again.

The post Stories That Struck a Chord This Year appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Its name was Pearl Harbor.

Though the war raged in Europe, the Pacific theater was still an afterthought to most Americans—especially those like my grandfather living stateside. Abraham, or ‘Abie’ as he was known, had rarely traveled outside the family confines of South Georgia. At the time, Pearl Harbor was a dream-worthy outpost, filled with all things étranger: palm trees, rip curls, hula skirts, and pig roasts.

Abie was the son of first-generation immigrants who were born in America, as my great-grandparents had decided to leave the civil unrest in their native Beirut, Lebanon. Like many from that era, our family uprooted their homes in the old country for a new life, opportunity, and freedom.

But we are not always in control of our dreams—or our destiny. In the weeks leading up to deployment, my grandfather was ordered to remain in Mississippi. A few months later, on December 7, 1941, history changed forever. It is a day that lives on in infamy—awakening the sleeping giant of the American war machine.

As the war progressed, my grandfather went on to serve his time at Pearl Harbor. Most of his service remained behind conflict lines, and he largely remained stoic about it. Abe’s younger brother, my great-uncle David, however, was more outspoken and could command an audience with his stories better than anyone I’ve ever known. Even as he reached his final years, his brilliant mind never forsook names or dates, and details were never neglected, despite some slight stretching of the yarn.

My favorite story comes from his time in New Guinea, also serving in the Army Air Corps, where most of his rhythm was spent in foxholes hiding from the Japanese Zeros who would strafe the fields after early morning sorties. When not bombarded by the sky, Lucky Strikes and news from home provided a bit of respite from hell.

One day, an airmail package arrived, light blue 32-ounce Mason jars packed with newspapers and lids pressure sealed. As David relayed, my great-grand- mother Sophie had sent our family pride, fried chicken, across the Pacific, and David and his friends made fast work gnawing down on a taste of home. My cousin Sam, David’s son, is a Valdosta-based attorney who took the effort to depose his own father to ensure our family history preserves such stories, as we lost David during the pandemic of 2020.

Sam and I often laugh and shed tears over bourbons poured neat about the veracity of David’s story, but when you’ve had our family’s fried chicken, it can make you believe in the impossible.

Flying for Meat

On this early spring day, I’m at 7,500 feet in my 1976 Piper Cherokee Cruiser with photographer Andrea Behrends. It’s our first journey for what will become my fifth cookbook, our third together.

While the purr of the Lycoming has served as a soundtrack to most of our travels, Andrea has told me months prior that she is expecting her first child, a baby boy, with her husband Christian. Inevitably, this ‘book writing season,’ as we call it, will certainly be different.

As I pick up the AWOS at Mettel Field (KCEV) outside of Connersville, Indiana, I notice the crosswinds are strong, perfectly perpendicular to Runway 18/36. I give Andrea a quick briefing, letting her know that we’ll go around as needed for safety, casually letting off some of the self-induced pressure by sharing that her baby-in-womb is sneaking in some solid early right-seat time.

Fortunately, the landing is unremarkable, thanks to the forgiving low-wing attributes of the Cherokee, and after tying up the airplane for the evening, we make our way into Cambridge City, Indiana, to meet with butcher Jerry Rihm and the family behind Rihm Foods.

The Next Adventure

Like any pilot, an author is always searching for the next adventure. So, after spending the last decade writing books on all things barbecue (The South’s Best Butts) and grilling (Serial Griller, featured in the May 2020 issue of FLYING), my publisher suggested I com- bine the two subjects into one, something akin to a best-of-hits compilation.

Frankly, I despised the idea altogether, as any true Southerner will tell you that barbecue and grilling are two entirely disparate subjects—e.g. takeoffs and landings.

So, after mulling around for months, I decided to start at the beginning—at a butcher shop—and my own family story.

When my great-grandfather Jim left Beirut, he traversed through France, eventually making the journey through the halls of Ellis Island to settle in south Georgia. Jim’s fruit stand, built from humble beginnings, eventually morphed into a food and gas establishment with living quarters for his family, including my grandfather Abe. They slept on the wooden floors in the back of the building as they persisted through the Great Depression.

Hard work, perseverance, and the formidable American dream served our family well. When Abe and David returned from the war, they built a full-service grocery store with their sister Mary, which became the model of the supermarket to follow.

Abe primarily took up the duties of butchering in house—sides of beef made their way weekly into the store from the Amour Brand food truck that sourced its dry-aged beef from Kansas City. David, a man of many talents, would make sausages on Saturdays and tend to the additional in-store eccentricities, including a hobby shop. On Fridays, Mary would make her relish of mustard, Vidalia onion, and tomatoes to serve on top of hot dogs wrapped in wax paper for those that craved a quick repast.

While I’ve known of such stories, writing this book opened a new opportunity to share our family pride, and recipes like kebabs and kibbe nayyeh, in a time when so many are trying to better understand the source—and the personalities behind the food we consume and enjoy.

As you read this, you are perhaps thinking of that butcher in your family, or the one on the local block where you grew up. So in my new book, Butcher on the Block, we travel from Chinatown in San Francisco to Antibes in the south of France.

Meat, game, seafood, and yes, vegetables, too, are all part of the butchering fabric around the world. And whether grilled, barbecued, raw, roasted, or fried—I aim to track down not only my grandfather’s legacy, but the trade that so lovingly contributes to the nourishment of our communities. Flying often serves as the means by which I can do so.

On the Butcher’s Trail

Back to Cambridge City. The Rihm patriarch Jerry is part of a third generation of butcher immigrants who built a local empire in the meat and processing business. Upon arrival, I meet with Jerry’s son Joseph, the next generation, who opens a smoker to unveil a few hog heads smoking on the grate. “Growing up in this family, nothing goes to waste. Besides, these will make great tacos,” says Joseph.

The Rihm family comes together that evening to share a spread honoring their traditions. I’m just glad to be a hungry witness. A ‘County Fair Burger’ made with house-ground pork, jowl bacon, and bar- becue sauce makes me wonder why all burgers are not sourced from pork. Among many a cold beer and Rihm house charcuteries like venison sausage and Braunschweiger, Jerry opines on one dish that’s not in front of my eyes. “Cutting meat, sometimes we save the best pieces for ourselves, like the tail trimmings of strips and ribeyes.

“Most folks don’t want to pay for that extra weight,” he continues, “so we trim it on the line, using our boning knife to cut out the little pearl of meat at the end. After a soak in Worcestershire, we eat that all day with some toasted bread.”

I only have to ask, and Jerry runs back to the shop to give me a taste.

Changing Weight and Balance

As pilots always seeking the next mission, chefs seek the next flavors—and in my journey of writing cookbooks, that change-your-life dish comes at rare and unexpected times. This was the time, and this simple dish of soaked raw beef stops me in my tracks—it’s why I keep flying and writing.

As we depart Cambridge City the following day, Jerry loads me up with a cooler of meats so heavy that I’m forced to recalculate the weight and balance to make sure we are safe for takeoff. I’m especially glad, midflight from Cambridge City to Nashville, to indulge in some venison jerky sticks as an in-flight snack.

Our journeys continue for a year, across the U.S. and the Atlantic, with a newborn that joins the force some- where in middle America. As always, the destinations prove to be worth the journey, and on some occasions, the joy of flying myself to the fun makes good on the ad- age that you can have your steak and eat it too. 

Recipe: The Rihm’s County Fair Pork Burger

One of Indiana’s best kept secrets is one of the simplest—the pork burger. Frankly, I’m not sure why subbing out beef patties for pork hasn’t caught more national attention, but one bite of this delicious, juicy burger will convince any burger purist. The Rihm family makes their patties in house, combining ground pork and their famous jowl bacon to produce a meaty, moist, and smoky base to this classic. I pressed both Joseph and Jerry Rihm as to why it’s earned the “county fair” moniker, and both tell me that’s because you eat them at the county fair. I can’t argue with that! You can dress this burger up as you wish, and it’s most often served with either mustard or barbecue sauce—no mayo or ketchup, please.

County Fair Burger

Serves 3

Hands on time: 15 minutes

Total: 45 minutes

1 pound ground pork sausage

1 pound hickory smoked bacon

Kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper

6 slices American cheese

3 large Hawaiian hamburger buns

Barbecue sauce, to serve

6 slices cooked bacon

Thick-sliced sweet yellow onion, to serve

Thick-sliced tomatoes, to serve

Hamburger pickles, to serve

1. Using your hands,  combine the sausage and bacon and mix gently until evenly incorporated. Gently create 6 patties, about 1/4 pound each, with your hands, and transfer to a baking sheet. Season each patty liberally on both sides with salt and pepper.

2. Open the bottom vent of a charcoal grill completely. Light a charcoal chimney starter filled with charcoal. When the coals are covered with gray ash, pour them onto the bottom grate of the grill, and then push to one side of the grill. Adjust the vents as needed to maintain an internal temperature of 400° to 450°F. Coat the top grate with oil; place on the grill. (If using a gas grill, preheat to medium high [400° to 450°F] on one side.)

3. Add the burgers over direct heat, and grill for 6 to 8  minutes, keeping the grill covered as needed to avoid flare-ups. Flip the burgers and cook an additional 3 minutes over direct heat. Transfer to indirect heat and continue to cook until the internal temperature reaches 165°F, 4 to 6 more minutes.

4. Place a slice of cheese over each patty, cover the grill, and cook for 45 to 60 seconds, until the cheese is just melted. Remove the patties from the grill and transfer to a clean plate. Quickly toast the buns by grilling them, cut sides down, over direct heat for 1 to 11/2 minutes, until slightly charred.

5. Assemble the burgers by spreading a generous portion of barbecue sauce on the tops and bottoms of the toasted buns. Arrange 2 patties on each bottom bun, and top with 2 slices of bacon. Continue to add additional toppings per your preference  and finish with the tops of the buns. Serve.

Excerpt from the book, Butcher on the Block, released on May 9. Available wherever books are sold. Used with permission from Harvest Books, a division of HarperCollins

The post Flying for Food: The Butcher Block Edition appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

According to NTSB, the pilot of the Cherokee, which was operated by Sunrise Aviation on behalf of Polk State College, was attempting to land on Runway 29 at the Winter Haven Regional Airport (KGIF). The pilot of the J-3 Cub was attempting to land at Jack Brown’s Seaplane Base (F57). 

Those killed in the accident were identified as Faith Irene Baker, 24, of Winter Haven, a pilot/flight instructor with Sunrise Aviation; flight student Zachary Jean Mace, 19, of Winter Haven; Louis DeFazio, 78, of Winter Haven; and 67-year-old Randall Elbert Crawford, of Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

• READ MORE: Four Killed in Florida Midair Collision

“The J-3 Cub was in one of normal corridors for approach to land on the lake and the Cherokee was performing a short approach to Runway 29, which involves a tighter turn and closer to the runway and steeper descent angle” than a normal approach, NTSB lead investigator Lynn Spencer said during a media briefing Thursday afternoon.

Spencer stressed that the maneuver is taught to all pilots as part of their training in the event they have an uncommanded loss of engine power. “It is a normal emergency maneuver,” she said, adding that the student pilot aboard the Cherokee was training for a commercial pilot certificate.

“The Cherokee was in a left descending turn and came nose to nose with the Cub, which attempted an evasive maneuver,” said Spencer, adding that the NTSB will be looking at the equipment of each airplane.

According to Spencer, the pilot of the Cherokee was self-announcing location and intention, and the Cub pilot was not.

“This might indicate the Cherokee was unaware of the Cub, or the Cub could not hear the Cherokee,” she said.

Spencer notes that the airspace (Class Echo) where the collision occurred does not require the use of radios or pilot communication. The J-3 Cub does not have an electrical system and as such, does not have a built-in radio. Pilots who fly Cubs in airspace that requires a radio or who desire a radio usually carry a battery-operated hand-held device.

After the aircraft are removed from the lake they will be transported to a security facility in Jacksonville where the wreckage will be studied.

In particular, investigators want to determine the impact angle, as the Cherokee is a low-wing design and the Cub a high wing. If the Cherokee is above the Cub, the wings of both aircraft create a blindspot, which can limit a pilot’s ability to see and avoid the other traffic.

The FAA is also part of the investigation. The NTSB said it expects to release a preliminary report in a few weeks.

The post NTSB Releases Details of Florida Midair Collision appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In the early stages of COVID-19, it was almost certain that I would lose my Boeing 737 captain seat and be downgraded to first officer with an attendant decrease of income. A furlough or my airline going bankrupt were possible too. As the situation evolved and my position appeared safe, the geographic and mental separation of being a continent away from our land combined with the restrictions of quarantine to ensure that our focus drifted and deadlines slipped. And then the Pacific Northwest real estate market went nuts, supply chains went FUBAR, the cost of lumber quadrupled, and available construction workers became rare as hen’s teeth. 

Initially we persisted, knowing we wouldn’t build until 2023 but otherwise hewing close to our original plan of building a three-bedroom, 2,300-square-foot timber-framed house and 50-foot-by-60-foot hangar in quick succession. We hired an old-school architect who expanded on my longtime vision to produce a beautiful, understated Northwoods design that we fell in love with. But as we pored over plans, financial reality set in. The cost of building the home would likely exceed $400 per square foot, putting the price of our humble forest cottage near $1 million. That rankled every fiber of my naturally cheap being, but if I could accept this as the cost of having a roof over our heads in Seattle, we could afford it. 

What we could not afford—and what probably wasn’t possible given all the supply-chain and labor shortages and construction delays—was to build the hangar simultaneously with or shortly after the house. When I ran the numbers, it would take several more years of saving to put us in a comfortable position to build a hangar and buy an airplane. So we had to decide: What did we want more, a house or an airplane? 

• READ MORE: Building the Dream Gets Off to a Rocky Start

Captains at my airline make a decent income and most have rather nice houses. There’s a certain cultural expectation, but I had long broken the airline pilot mold by selling everything and running off to sea. Post-boat, our lifestyle has remained mobile, minimalistic, and adventure-oriented. We lived in 200 square feet for nearly five years and had the time of our lives. We never really missed having a big house. We did, however, miss having our own airplane—Dawn even more so than me. Our choice was clear. The hangar came first. 

When we moved west in August last year, we had the idea that we would get a tiny home, and we even looked at a few. They aren’t quite legal in our county, though, and we had difficulty getting a septic system approved for a “seasonal cabin.” We considered building the hangar in 2022 and just wildcatting an apartment in the loft for a year, but the wily county planners were once again ahead of us: Given our zoning, it turned out that a hangar could not be permitted without an existing legal single-family residence. This revelation sent Dawn and I into a late night, wine-fueled brainstorming session, sketching out eight solutions and listing the pros and cons of each. 

By night’s end, our course was clear, and the next morning, I started drafting plans. Our new aim was to build the 50-by-60-foot pole-barn hangar with an attached 15-foot-by-60-foot side shed, finished out as a two-bedroom living area—a “barndominium,” if you will—all permitted as a single-family residence. We found a pole barn company able to engineer my plans and supply the kit, and engaged contractors to erect the shell, pour the slab, and install the septic system. 

Dawn and I will finish out the living quarters ourselves, with the assistance of my retired contractor father. We ordered a 44-foot-by-15-foot Higher Power hydraulic door and will incorporate PEX tubing for radiant heat into the slab, but the hangar portion will remain otherwise unfinished for the moment. We’ll add insulation, a boiler, a standby generator, and solar power as time and finances allow. We plan to live in the hangar for three to eight years and build the house when the time is right, at which point the annex will make for extra storage or a nice mother-in-law suite. 

We ordered the pole barn kit in March 2022, and I refined the annex plans and put together a building permit application package that we submitted on May 7. We’d already been doing a lot of site prep since last December, thinning trees and brush and expanding the clearing. In January, we cut in a driveway and bought a storage shed, and material deliveries started in June. We trenched in power and water just prior to heading east for Oshkosh, and after a few small changes, our building permits were issued on July 22. As it stands in late September, we have broken ground and erected the poles; the trusses go up soon and we hope to have a roof and a slab before autumn rains begin. We’ll start the living quarters in late October, planning to move in early in the new year. 

Throughout this process, two things have become very clear. Whether putting in a long hard day of work on our land or listening to bullfrogs by the campfire on a still summer evening, we absolutely love spending time at the airstrip. It’s a little slice of heaven, and we can’t wait to call it home. And secondly, our yearning for an airplane of our own has only intensified, even as we rent a local Piper Cherokee and fly my neighbor Ken’s generously lent Super Cub. It’s been more than six years since we sold our Piper Pacer, and we need to find another vintage adventure machine to explore far horizons. 

The draw of the airstrip and the promise of our own airplane have been hugely motivational as we’ve put in a ton of hard work and navigated all the twists and turns of the process these last six months, and I expect they will power us through all the really hard work ahead (and various additional wrinkles). In a way, this is a very analogous repeat of how we built our life together cruising aboard Windbird: hard work, persistence, flexibility, and living each day intentionally. If the result is anything like our last adventure, the reward will be supremely worthy of the struggle. 

The post Building the Dream While Rolling With Twists and Turns appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

But how do you determine which type is truly best for you? In a market where competitively priced examples sell within minutes of being posted online, what factors should you anticipate ahead of time to make your entry into ownership as painless as possible? Anymore, it’s about getting creative and thinking outside the box.

Attend Fly-Ins

Imagine if there was a nationwide network of airplane dealerships that specialized in everyday, real-world, used airplanes. Chances are your local dealership would become a regular haunt, and you’d constantly find reasons to stop by on your way home from work.

That dealership network doesn’t exist, but local fly-ins do. On any summer Saturday morning, there’s bound to be a pancake breakfast or EAA chapter event taking place in your area. Simply look for event calendars online and drive out to them as you’re able. There, you’ll get to see an ever-changing variety of airplanes up close and in person. Better yet, you’ll be able to chat with their owners about what those types are like to own. If you’re invited to sit in them, you’ll learn how comfortable they are (or aren’t), and indeed, whether you even fit. At the end of the day, you’ll walk away with a working familiarity of various types and the unique ownership concerns of each.

Get Out There

While the web is a wonderful resource that should be fully utilized, it’s no substitute for the connections we can make with others in person. Most of the time, this process begins—again—on a Saturday morning, but this time, at your local small town FBO. There, the regulars will likely be gathered around a table, swilling 100-octane airport coffee, telling tall tales, and solving the world’s problems. Bring a friendly smile and a fresh box of doughnuts for the group and you’ll be welcomed into the fold. Before long, you may have a lead on an airplane that the owner has talked about selling, but that isn’t yet on the market. And just like that, you’ll have beaten hundreds of other shoppers to it.

This is how I found my own airplane. While whining about my lack of success in finding a reasonably-priced Cessna 170 to a friend, she vaguely recalled her hangar neighbor mentioning that a friend of his was thinking of selling his 170. After working my way through the three degrees of separation, I struck up a friendship with the owner and, ultimately, ended up buying his airplane. While you’re out nosing around small airports, be sure to seek out the physical bulletin boards that are invariably found inside each FBO or clubhouse. There, you’ll find leads on airplanes, many of which will never appear online. Powerful though the web may be, it doesn’t contain these lush grapevines of local gossip. 

Embark Upon Fact-Finding Missions

When you manage to narrow your choices down to two or three types, there’s a good chance one of them will be something other than a common Cessna 172 or Piper Cherokee. Maybe it’s an old Cessna 140 taildragger, maybe it’s a Piper Tri-Pacer, or maybe it’s a Mooney. If that airplane is indeed one of your finalists, seek one out that’s available to rent, and travel to it. Go up with an instructor for a couple of lessons. Evaluate and consider how well it matches your tastes. This may involve the purchase of an airline ticket to the opposite end of the country. It may involve two or more nights in a hotel. But in the overall scheme of airplane ownership, it’s a drop in the bucket…and the investment will steer you toward a good, well-researched decision and away from a hasty, ill-informed one.

Discover Local Resources

Ask any aircraft owner, and they’ll tell you that one of the most valuable assets imaginable is an experienced mechanic available locally who is familiar with your make and model. They’ll be able to identify issues before they become problems, and they’ll likely be pretty quick with routine maintenance. Personally, I’ve had good luck reaching out to owners groups. Some host their own website with a dedicated forum where you can ask about experienced mechanics in your area. Other groups may only have a Facebook page.

After you’ve narrowed your search down to a few different models, ask each type’s respective owners group what mechanics and resources exist in your area. It may be the case that there are none nearby, and that you’d have to take a unique type, like a Porterfield Collegiate or Culver Cadet, to a local mechanic who’s never actually seen one before. That A&P will almost certainly overcome their learning curve, but it will take awhile—and you’ll be footing the bill along the way. Should you happen to be torn between two types and are seeking some sort of tiebreaker to help determine which to choose, the presence of local expertise might very well break that tie.

Buy With Your Heart—and Your Brain

My own airplane-shopping spreadsheet contained about six tabs, many formulas, and an entire sheet of color-coded charts that compared the airplanes I found. Important as it is to pay attention to the technical details, it’s also important to pay attention to the less quantifiable factors, e.g.: a paint scheme that you find completely irresistible; a fascination with a type’s overall design; or maybe the attachment to a model that comes from a parent or grandparent having owned one during your childhood. When it comes to a purchase of an airplane, sound decision-making should be grounded in the usual fundamental issues: lack of corrosion, a well-maintained, regularly-flown engine, etc. But so long as those boxes are checked, it’s acceptable to err toward the one that tugs at your heartstrings.

The post 5 Tips for Finding Your Perfect Airplane appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

• READ MORE: The Great Smoky Mountains: A Fly-Over and Fly-In That Fills the Senses

Packing Up the Family: Cessna 206

Cessna targeted its Model 206 Stationair as a utility upgrade to the popular 182—and it flies similarly though it can carry a whole lot more. The 206 has been in production since 1962 (originally as a 205 that was basically a 210 with fixed gear), so there are a lot of versions out there flying—with evolutions over the years that move along with the state of the art in engines and avionics.

The average 206 has six seats (including the pilot) and the base model has been in and out of production since 1964. In 1998, it went back into production as the 206H, powered by a 310 hp Lycoming IO-540-AC1A. The model has a rear clamshell door that allows for the loading of a wide range of recreational equipment, ideal for outdoor adventures.

With a useful load around 1,400 pounds, a takeoff distance of about 2,000 feet, and a landing distance of less than 1,500 feet (over a 50-foot obstacle, at maximum gross weight), the 206 can carry a lot in and out of relatively short strips.

The 206’s service ceiling in turbocharged models runs to 26,000 feet msl, and it will cruise anywhere from 150 to 161 ktas.

A Truck-Full: Piper Cherokee Six

Another popular six-seater over the years is the Piper Cherokee Six. If you can find a good example, you’ll likely have to pry the control wheel from its owner’s hands—its solid performance as a reliable hauler is not just legend, but reality.

• READ MORE: Great Smokies: How To Get There

You’ll find two options to put into your home hangar based on the engine up front—the PA-32-260 with a 260 hp Lycoming O-540, and the PA-32-300 with the 300 hp fuel-injected Lycoming IO-540. The model has morphed into the Piper Saratoga. Between those options you still have the same large rear door in which to stuff your gear, people, and luggage—and the family pet. With a useful load of up to 1,600 pounds at maximum gross weight of 3,400 pounds, you run between 1,400 to 1,500 feet in takeoff distance, and about 1,000 feet on landing (over a 50-foot obstacle).

The Six ranges out to 700 nm with a 94-gallon capacity (somewhat less on older models), and at a typical 148 ktas cruise speed at 75 percent power, you have enough to come to the Southeast to play from a good distance away.

Speed & Efficiency: Epic E1000 GX

Not your parents’ six-seater, indeed: The E1000 GX from Epic Aircraft looks fast standing still—with the use of carbon fiber throughout its airframe, the single-engine turboprop plays the part well. And it delivers that speed (333 ktas or better) with astounding efficiency.

Once it’s cruising at altitude, the E1000’s Pratt & Whitney PT6A-67A sips as little as 40 gph and still hits up to 300 ktas. With 264 gallons of fuel on board, you can fly into the Smokies from far away, indeed.

With that speed and range flexibility, you also get significant useful load with the E1000 GX. It tops out at 2,860 pounds, with a full-fuel payload of 1,100 pounds. There’s room in the cabin too, with more than 31 inches of floor space lengthwise between the four club-configured seats in the rear.

You can get in and out of a lot of places with the E1000 GX as well. Its takeoff distance over a 50-foot obstacle is 2,254 feet, with a landing distance (also over the 50-foot obstacle) of 2,399 feet.

From that runway length, you can climb out at rates of up to 4,000 fpm to the Epic’s maximum altitude of 34,000 feet. With that kind of performance, it’s a truly flexible flyer.

This article was first published in the 2022 Southeast Adventure Guide of FLYING Magazine.

The post Great Smokies: Aircraft for the Adventure appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Ah, airplanes. A magical vehicle, taking Seven and me to destinations markedly different from our point of departure. In the many trips we made by truck to racetracks in the southern states, she would feel the gradual change in temps at each rest stop on the interstate. But getting off a commercial flight in Costa Rica having departed JFK in the coldest month New York has to offer must have been bewildering to her. Maybe magical too.

When Seven first started flying with me, she hopped right on the wing with her tail wagging, expertly maneuvering through the 180-degree turn into the back seat of the Piper Cherokee I trained in. She’d look out the window during climb, then fall asleep for cruise and wake up on cue for descent. When I bought my airplane, she made it her own, same as she had with the pickup. She wanted so badly to stick her head out the window but never did quite understand why this wasn’t possible. I wanted to build an AirCam just so she could experience an open-air cockpit.

By airplane, Seven and I went to some amazing places together. We flew to my friend Jay’s lake house in Georgia, where she pooped on the ski boat but settled in nicely after said deposit was made on the bow. We flew to Telluride, Colorado, where I snowboarded while she played in the snow with my friend Rosie’s dog, Indy. We flew to Montauk, New York, where she frantically dug holes on the beach with my friend Glen, searching for buried tennis balls. In flight, she entertained and calmed nervous passengers who were unsure about flying in a small airplane.

Seven never made a mess in the airplane. It seemed like she knew it as our magical truck, not to be desecrated. Preparing for trips, she watched me carefully as I loaded her food, water bowls, and (most important) an assortment of balls and Chuckit launchers. As she came to love the airplane, she began to migrate from the back seat to the cargo area behind it. She would make the move midflight, throwing off my CG a bit, but happily finding a suitably flat area to stretch out in.

We had years of adventure together. When there wasn’t a human to share a new experience with me, there she was, ready and willing—and eternally excited to see what would be waiting when she jumped off the wing at whichever new town we landed. Everywhere we went, Seven melted hearts. FBOs unfriendly to dogs made sudden exceptions. Ubers let her jump right in the back seat. Hotels that don’t allow pets—well, I would sneak her in the back door once I checked in. She loved Sedona, Arizona, the most because the airport’s restaurant on the field had an honest-to-god dog menu with food prepared by the same cook that made my dinner. In return for that loyal companionship, Seven trusted me to get her wherever we were going safely. I held up my end of that tacit agreement—for a time.

The Night Things Changed

Departing Caldwell, New Jersey, one night a few years back, we encountered turbulence so great that one bump forced her to vertically leave the rear seat, hitting the ceiling hard enough to displace an overhead panel before being dumped back into the seat with no less force. She looked at me, whimpering, as if to say: “This is not a flying truck. I do not love this any longer.”

From that day on, she had no desire to jump onto the wing. Any trips by air required her to be picked up and gently placed on the wing, at which point she dutifully boarded, clearly unhappy about it and likely thinking this was her last flight. For a solid year, I flew with my right hand behind me, stroking her soft head to stop the shaking that occurred every time she settled into that rear seat. Treats helped. I always had a few pieces of something in my pocket to coax her in and then calm her down. Her anxiety lessened but never went away. She stayed vigilant to the dangers of flight in a way her owner did not. She was on board that fateful spring morning when I stalled our Beech Bonanza departing Telluride and slid down the runway so far that we burned the aluminum skins down to the spars, totaling the airplane.

I’ll never forget the moment when I let her out after we came to a smoking, grinding halt. She always jumped out of the airplane with purpose, happy that we were back on terra firma. But this was different. She leapt off the wing onto the tarmac and stood stock-still, waiting for me to come to her. I held her there on the runway while she shook uncontrollably.

She looked at me as if to say: “Hey, I’ve been cool with this flying thing for a while now. I know it makes you happy and all, but this is it for me. I’m done.”

We took a long break after that as my new Bonanza was prepped and readied. Once done, I had no intention of leaving Seven at home. My girlfriend, Kim, was in the picture at this point, and the two of them became close. Kim spoke dog, and Seven associated her with love and safety. With Kim, Seven would came along, albeit reluctantly, the shaking beginning as soon as the hangar door opened. If Seven saw anyone else in a nearby hangar, she would sprint to them and act as though she were pleading for an instant adoption or safe passage off the airport via a ground vehicle. It was like canine political asylum, with Seven claiming her life was in danger with her owners in the next hangar. Kim would dutifully follow and reclaim her, lovingly loading her in the back seat of the airplane and comforting her for the remainder of the flight. I hated seeing Seven so afraid. It reminded me of my extraordinary failure as a pilot.

Seven came with us to Oshkosh, Wisconsin, in July. We spent the week looking at “magic flying trucks” and marveling at airshows. Afterward, we flew to my good friend Mike’s home airport in Rice Lake where he picked us up in his Cessna 182 amphib. We parked the Bonanza in his hangar and climbed up into the highest cabin that Seven or I, for that matter, had ever been in. Kim was already in the back seat. I gently passed Seven up to her. She settled into Kim’s lap as Mike started up the engine, taking off in clear air toward the setting sun and his home on a nearby lake. Though I did not know it at the time, it was to be Seven’s last flight. She passed away a few days later. But that night, as the Cessna rose into the sky, I looked back at her from the right front seat. Seven was falling asleep in Kim’s lap, not shaking even the slightest bit.

The post Dogs Love Trucks, But Not Always Airplanes appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The Cherokee Six was designed with simplicity and utility in mind. While it later evolved into the Saratoga, Lance and “Six”—all with various blends of retractable gear, turbocharged engines, T-tails and tapered wings—we’re focusing on the original version, built from 1965 to 1979.

With fixed gear, a normally aspirated engine and the traditional non-tapered “Hershey bar” wing, this generation of Cherokee Six is prized by owners as the most economical means of transporting a large amount of people and cargo. Here, we investigate what the Cherokee Six is like to own, maintain and fly.

Design 

The design process for the Cherokee Six was straightforward: Using the existing four-place Cherokee as the starting point, Piper added approximately 4 feet in fuselage length and 7 inches to the cabin width. To handle the additional size and weight, the engine was upgraded to a larger, six-cylinder Lycoming. Though a small number were built with fixed-pitch propellers, virtually all have since been upgraded with constant-speed propellers.

The massive rear cabin is what sets the Cherokee Six apart from the rest of the Cherokee family. It accommodates four passengers in a club-seating configuration or, alternatively, two rows of forward-facing seats. With the latter configuration, a small seventh seat can be added between the two second row seats for a child or small adult. The forward-facing rear seats are easily configurable and can be installed or removed in seconds without tools.

Baggage capacity is outstanding, with a dedicated forward baggage area between the instrument panel and firewall, as well as a larger baggage area aft of the third row of seats. Both areas have a 100-pound weight-carrying capacity. A large two-part door provides access to the rear cabin and aft baggage area, making it easy to load and unload oversize items.

Overall, Piper engineers exercised restraint when designing the Cherokee Six and successfully created an airplane nearly as basic and straightforward as the existing PA-28 Cherokee—but with far more space and power.

Model History

The Cherokee Six family is a simple one. The initial PA-32 that was produced prior to the advent of the Lance and Saratoga came in only two variants, and they differed only in horsepower.

The original Cherokee Six was given the designation PA-32-260 and came equipped with the carbureted 260-horsepower Lycoming O-540. Later, enough buyers requested more power that Piper acquiesced and offered the PA-32-300 with the fuel-injected 300-horsepower Lycoming IO-540. Both engines are well-liked by pilots and maintainers, but those who own the 300 hp version invariably appreciate having the additional power.

Market Snapshot

A survey of Cherokee Six models listed for sale at the time of this writing found 17 examples ranging in price from $67,000 for a 260 with dated paint, interior and avionics to $225,000 for fully restored examples with thoroughly updated panels. The median price of the group was $129,900, and the median airframe time was 5,150 hours.

It’s becoming increasingly rare to find a Cherokee Six for less than $100,000. One charter operator who owns, restores and maintains several of them reports that it’s becoming nearly impossible to find clean, trouble-free examples for under $125,000. The type nevertheless remains one of the most economical means of transporting such a volume of passengers and cargo, particularly when compared to twins.

A total of 1,647 Cherokee Sixes are presently listed on the FAA register, made up of 661 PA-32-260s and 986 PA-32-300s.

Flight Characteristics

One owner jokingly advises, “During preflight, make sure nobody left a baby grand piano in the rear cargo area.” In fact, Piper did run advertisements showing an actual piano being loaded into the cabin to demonstrate the airplane’s ability to swallow oversize cargo.

The ability to carry a vast amount of weight can transform the airplane’s flight characteristics entirely, however. Lightly loaded, a Cherokee Six behaves like an overpowered muscle car, firmly pressing occupants into their seatbacks during the takeoff roll, climbing out at 1,300 to 1,400 feet per minute, and responding enthusiastically to blips of the throttle.

Heavily loaded, the airplane demands attention and a thorough understanding of how greater weight and inertia can affect performance. Owners strongly recommend seeking out an experienced CFI, then training at both ends of the weight-and-balance envelope to learn just how differently the airplane flies when fully loaded with an aft center of gravity. While never precarious or dangerous, trim requirements become vastly different, and one must think further ahead when making power adjustments.

A look at the 260 and 300 information manuals reveals admirable takeoff and landing performance even at the 3,400-pound max takeoff weight—listing 1,400 to 1,500 feet required to clear a 50-foot obstacle at sea level on takeoff and only 1,000 feet to do so on landing.

When it comes to fuel burn, no Cherokee Six will ever be described as thrifty. At typical cruise speeds of 135 to 145 knots, fuel burns of approximately 14 to 17 gallons per hour can be expected. Powered back for maximum economy, however, owners report seeing fuel burns as low as 11 to 12 gallons per hour.

If there is an aspect of the Cherokee Six operation that is prone to error, it’s the fuel system. While it isn’t overly complicated, it is somewhat clumsy from a design perspective and requires special attention. Two tanks per wing (inboard and outboard) hold a total of 84 gallons. The outboard tanks should always be filled first, and all weight in excess of 3,112 pounds must be in fuel weight only. The 1979 Cherokee Six went to a simpler two-tank system with a 94-gallon capacity.

To prevent an imbalance in flight, many owners opt to switch tanks every 15 to 30 minutes, emptying the mains before the outboards per the flight manual. Each main tank provides roughly one and a half hours of endurance, and each outboard provides about one hour more.

Cherokee Six owners stand by their decision to stick to the fixed-gear PA-32 over its retractable gear cousins, reasoning that the increased speed offered by the retractable gear is negligible. One owner whose Cherokee Six is outfitted with an aftermarket cowl and wheelpants reported that when flying side by side with a friend in a Piper Lance, the Lance was only able to cruise about 5 knots faster despite having retractable gear. When we add the additional insurance premiums and maintenance expenses to the equation, it seems the retractable gear struggles to make a compelling case for itself.

The size, weight and inertia of the airplane make it an ideal instrument platform, and the conventional tail provides familiar, predictable handling during takeoff and landing, particularly compared with the later T-tails in the Lance series. If speed is allowed to decay on final approach, the sink rate will quickly increase, and the airplane will rapidly slice through ground effect to an abrupt end. The long nose can obscure forward visibility in the flare, but landings are otherwise simple and straightforward.

Ownership

A significant number of Cherokee Six owners began their primary training in smaller, four-place Cherokees and later progressed to the Six as their needs evolved. Because the handling characteristics and systems are fairly consistent among the PA-28 and PA-32 fleets, the progression from the smaller models to the larger ones is considered to be straightforward and easily accomplished with proper training.

Because of the six- to seven-seat capacity, insurance premiums are quite a bit higher than comparable four-seat aircraft. Some lower-time owners have been able to negotiate a reduced rate with their insurance provider by agreeing to remove two passenger seats, thus limiting their airplane’s total seating capacity to four. After logging enough time in type to bring their premiums down to a more reasonable level, the insurance company reinstated the original policy, and the owners returned the airplanes to their full seating capacity.

The seating capacity can also present a challenge to Cherokee Six pilots wishing to operate under BasicMed. Because the airplane has the potential to carry seven with the additional center seat, it’s possible to interpret this as exceeding BasicMed’s six-seat limitation. Fortunately, the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association and Aeronautix have created inexpensive STCs that restrict the airplane to six seats via paperwork, qualifying it for operation under BasicMed. If the owner later wishes to utilize all seven seats, the STC can easily be removed.

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Unlike some less-common types that demand technicians with specialized knowledge and experience, the popularity of the Piper Cherokee family makes it easy to find parts and service for both the airframe and powerplant. ADs are fairly straightforward, the most serious of which concern corrosion and the relatively recent wing spar AD that applies to many Pipers.

Owners and maintainers alike praise the Lycoming O-540 and IO-540 engines for their reliability and parts availability. Both engines boast a lengthy 2,000-hour TBO, though the O-540 is considerably less expensive to overhaul. A survey of several engine shops found that, at $30,000, the average overhaul cost of the less powerful O-540 is $12,000 lower than that of the injected version.

Many owners only typically transport four passengers but enjoy the airplane’s ability to also transport as much baggage as those individuals ever want to bring along. The low aft cabin door and ease of entry makes the Cherokee Six a favorite of passengers with limited mobility, and the close proximity of the aft baggage area provides a convenient place to store wheelchairs and mobility aids.

Most Cherokee Six airplanes boast useful loads in the 1,400-pound range, with early lighter models approaching 1,500 pounds. With a fuel capacity of 84 gallons, this equates to full fuel payloads in the 900- to 1,000-pound range. The 1979 model has a 94-gallon usable-fuel capacity.

Owning a Cherokee Six is like owning two airplanes at the same time. Empty and light, it is effectively a very powerful and roomy PA-28 Cherokee that loves to accelerate and climb. Fully loaded, it’s a personal airliner, capable of bringing enough friends and luggage for comfortable weekend trips away.

Large-cabin utility doesn’t come cheap in aviation and most often comes in the form of light twins. With fixed-gear simplicity and the utilitarian reliability of the Cherokee family, the Cherokee Six is perhaps the easiest and least-expensive means of attaining that level of capability.

From The FLYING Archives

From FLYING’s report in the July 1965 issue, managing editor Richard Weeghman waxes eloquently about the Six’s charms—and ability to carry odd-size loads.

“Cleopatra wrapped in a rug, 17 skis and poles, one grandfather clock, three fishing poles, a full-grown tuna fish, and maybe my Great Dane. That’s what Piper Cherokee Sixes are made of.

“To fly the Cherokee Six is to displace a great cylindrical column of air—but at an airspeed quite respectable for a fixed-gear airplane. Cruise speed (at 75 percent power, 7,000 feet gross weight) is 137 knots (158 mph). To fly in hazy weather is to peer out over an engine nacelle without end.

“To land the Cherokee Six is to invite the drumroll of little feet upon your wing after you have parked, the press of nostrils against the plexiglass, and the moist touch of curious hands upon the rear door.”

A true “throw anything into it” kind of airplane.

The post The Practical Endurance of the Piper Cherokee Six appeared first on FLYING Magazine.