The aircraft is on display this week at EAA AirVenture’s Vintage Aircraft Circle.

The Ackermans bought the Stinson as a project in October 2011, and it quickly became apparent the project was more than the two could handle.

The Stinson is a large aircraft for a four-seater, tipping the scales at 2,617 pounds empty, which is about what many four-seat general aviation aircraft gross out, fully loaded. Nothing about it is small, including the documentation the Ackermans had to wade through, including 18 reels of 35 mm microfilm, with each stretching out 100 feet long.

Stinson NC3040 was the first production Stinson Gullwing, which would be enough fame for most any flying machine. Their particular Stinson had lived something of a higher-profile existence, having been owned through the late 1930s by Pepsi-Cola, and it had been painted with the company logo for publicity work. Through the ’50s and ’60s, the airplane grew derelict and was parked.

The Ackermans turned to RARE Aircraft in Faribault, Minnesota, to take on the work. RARE Aircraft is noted as a Stearman and WACO restoration shop, whose wood and fabric work are well known in the community.

On July 12, the freshly restored Stinson took its first flight in almost 70 years, following four years of work by RARE Aircraft and the preceding effots of the Ackermans. The restoration is well-researched and incorporates tasteful updates, such as avionics and safety improvements, to make the Stinson more easily handled in today’s environment.

While the Ackermans haven’t flown their plane yet, the test/ferry pilot reported that it cruised at about 140 mph and landed at 48 mph. They plan to keep the plane about a decade as custodians before passing it along to the next of its caretakers.

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared on Plane & Pilot.

The post Pepsi Stinson SR-7 Turns Heads at EAA AirVenture appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1947 Stinson 108-2.

You stand a pretty good chance of spotting a Stinson 108 at a vintage fly-in, on the ramp at a rural airport, or even peeking out of a neighbor’s hangar at your local field. That is because more than 5,000 of the popular, high-wing family transporters were built between the immediate postwar period and the early 1950s. Even though they are antiques, these handsome, substantial airplanes are not as rare as you might think.

The 108 evolved from the prewar Stinson 105 series and grew in popularity as general aviation experienced a boom after World War II. Compared with many of its immediate predecessors, the 108 had a roomy, comfortable cabin, better instrumentation, and a lot more power. Its overall four-seat layout became the template for GA aircraft to come.

Most 108s were called Voyagers, a name carried over from the 105s, while some carried the Station Wagon moniker because of their reinforced rear floors designed for carrying cargo. Today there are a lot of Stinson enthusiasts and an active club maintaining a strong support network for the aged aircraft and making them reasonably practical and economical to operate.

This Stinson 108-2 has 2,400 hours on the airframe and 595 hours on its 165 hp Franklin HC engine. The aircraft has a metal wing, Cleveland brakes, new tires and wheel pants. Its basic VFR panel includes a King KX125 Nav/Com, intercom, and ADS-B Out.

Pilots who are interested in owning a vintage aircraft with roots reaching back to aviation’s golden age, but also want basic modern comfort and practicality, should consider this 1947 Stinson 108-2, which is available for $45,000 on AircraftForSale.

You can arrange financing of the aircraft through FLYING Finance. For more information, email info@flyingfinance.com.

• FLYING Magazine: Approachable Aircraft: Stinson 108
• FLYING Magazine: Pilots Gather at the 2022 Stinson Summit
• FLYING Magazine: His and Hers Stinsons
• Plane & Pilot: Rocky Mountain Turbulence in an Old Stinson
• Plane & Pilot: Stinson Reliant
• AVweb: 1947 Stinson 108-2

The post This 1947 Stinson 108-2 Is a Well-Supported Antique ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1944 Stinson Vultee V-77.

A graceful, unusual wing shape sets the later Stinson Reliant models apart from other 1930s general aviation aircraft. Earlier Reliants had straight, constant-chord wings and are quite different in design despite having the same name as the later, so-called gull-wing versions. The aircraft were sought-after as personal conveyance and were used for military training and utility work during World War II.

The Stinson for sale here carries the Vultee V-77 nomenclature that identifies it as a former military airplane. The aircraft, which was re-covered with Poly-Fiber in 2015 as part of a restoration, has 1,420 hours on the airframe, 230 hours on the radial engine, and 85 hours on the propeller since overhaul. The panel is basic VFR with a Trig radio and transponder with ADS-B Out.

Pilots interested in flying a rare, eye-catching antique aircraft to as many vintage fly-ins as possible and forming bonds with the community of caretakers who look after these classic birds should consider this Stinson Vultee V-77, which is available for $147,500 on AircraftForSale.

You can arrange financing of the aircraft through FLYING Finance. For more information, email info@flyingfinance.com.

• FLYING Magazine: Pilots Gather at the 2022 Stinson Summit
• FLYING Magazine: Antique Aircraft Association Hosts Fly-In in Blakesburg
• Plane & Pilot: Stinson Reliant
• The Aviation Consumer: Off The Beaten Path: Vintage Aircraft
• AVweb: Buying The Old Ones: Homework Mandatory

The post This 1944 Stinson Vultee V-77 Is a Warbird-Eligible ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

It looked like airplane heaven.

Dawn and I had been living and cruising the Caribbean aboard our 42-foot sailboat, Windbird, for the previous three years. On long passages, we curled up in the cockpit at night, watching phosphorescence stream into the starlit combers sweeping under our stern and listening to the gurgle of water past the hull, and dreamed up our post-sailing life together. It would be centered around general aviation, we determined, but would also include terrestrial adventures like motorcycling, camping, and travel. It would involve a return to the Pacific Northwest, where we lived a decade previously and still missed. We’d get a quiet place in the country, with lots of room for our dog, Piper, to run and roam. We’d take an active role in forging our homestead, getting dirt under our nails and calluses on our hands while building upon some of the more practical skills we had gained in our years at sea.

This morning, almost exactly four years after I first laid eyes on our future home, I awoke to bright sunlight streaming through our bedroom window. It’s another beautiful summer day, with a light breeze just rustling the windsock past the handsome strand of cedars. I get up and put coffee on the stove then step out to the hangar. It’s a bit of a mess, with boxes and detritus from the move still scattered about, but I’m steadily building workbenches and custom shelving and getting things organized. I open the 44-foot hydraulic hangar door and sunshine flows over the Stinson, sitting rather incongruously gift wrapped in painter’s plastic. Last week, I noticed the finishing tape over the left wing spar was lifting and peeling back in two spots, requiring I take those areas down to bare fabric, iron the tape flat, reapply adhesive (Poly-Brush, as my airplane is covered with the Poly-Fiber system), and build the finish back up. Today, I’m spraying Poly-Spray, the silvery UV coating that likes to get everywhere (thus the gift-wrapped Stinson and tarps over everything nearby).

Just another day in airplane heaven.

Our 50-by-60-foot hangar is basically as I envisioned when I first saw the clearing it occupies, except it has an attached 15-by-60-foot, two-bedroom apartment that wasn’t in the original plan. The wooded building site up the hill is still undisturbed. We actually went so far as having an architect draft house plans based on a rustic design I’ve had in my head for years before COVID-19 and runaway construction costs made us choose what we wanted more: a house or hangar. But the apartment has turned out really well—better than I imagined, actually—and I think we’ll be happy to live here for some time. Both my life and career have tended to go in half-decade cycles, and I suspect that in five years or so I’ll start to get the construction itch again. For the moment, it is very well scratched.

The last time I wrote about our progress, in the April 2023/Issue 936 column, we still had bare studs in the apartment and a gaping hole in the front of our hangar. Over the following months, I assembled the hydraulic door with our contractor’s help, hired a drywall company to do Sheetrock and texturing, and painted the place myself. We ordered custom cabinets and quartz countertops, which contractors had installed along with the plank flooring. I installed the tub surround, toilet, and vanity, and did all the electrical and plumbing finish work, including installing the tankless propane hot water heater.

Outside, I trenched in the gas line conduit from the propane tank and drain hoses from the downspouts and catch basins to the county-mandated stormwater dispersion trenches, which were multiday projects in their own right. I used our immensely useful Kubota BX-23S tractor/backhoe (my first brand-new vehicle) to get everything filled and graded nicely, and our concrete contractor poured the apron, stoops, and side patio. I brought in three dump trucks of gravel to build up the driveway and four of topsoil for the yard. Seeding, covering, and watering the new lawn was a major project that is ongoing given the sunny, dry weather. We did all this, by the way, while I flew a full schedule at the airline and Dawn was busy baking and selling her popular dog treats at farmers’ markets around the area.

• READ MORE: Delays, Mistakes All Part of Building a Dream Hangar

For three weeks in June and July, we received a huge help in the form of Dawn’s parents, Tom and Marg Schmitz, visiting from South Dakota. Like my own father, Tom is a retired contractor, and Marg is quite handy as well. While I was installing appliances, working outside, finishing odd jobs, and attending to various county inspections, Tom and Marg hung all the interior doors and undertook the herculean job of painting, installing, and caulking trim. I wasn’t even planning on having much trim done before we moved in, but Tom and Marg just about finished it. And then, when I learned that the county required all 4,000 square feet of siding to be stained before final inspection, our friends Brad and Amber Phillips showed up from across the country to help us knock it out in two days.

We moved in at the start of July—initially just for the Fourth of July weekend, to get Piper away from the crazy fireworks in town. We loved being up here so much—and our productivity went up so much—that we stayed for good, occupancy permit be damned. We moved all the furniture from our previous apartment one week later. There was a delay waiting on backed-up state electrical inspectors, but on July 25 we finally had our last county inspection and passed with flying colors. Dawn and I celebrated with an outrageously good glass of Balvenie PortWood 21-year-old Scotch, which I had kept on the shelf unopened for the previous nine months as a little extra motivation. The celebratory Stinson flight is waiting on my fabric repair.

So ended phase one of the project that we dreamed up on those magical starlit passages aboard Windbird and put into motion when we bought an overgrown, brambly piece of airplane heaven. Phase two—next summer’s project—will involve improved landscaping, insulating the hangar, installing a boiler for in-floor heat, and incorporating a standby generator.

A little further down the road we’ll likely install solar panels and incorporate other off-grid improvements. And, yes, at some point we’ll probably want a bit more space to accommodate our far-flung friends from around the country and globe, and we’ll build our little three-bedroom cabin in the woods. When that happens, perhaps we’ll turn the hangar apartment into a fly-in bed-and-breakfast.

For now, we’re simply enjoying living on the strip, taking a breather from our labors, and embarking on some fun adventures while we plan our next moves.

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

The post Just Another Day in Airplane Heaven appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

When Dawn and I bought our previous airplane, a 1953 Piper Pacer, we vowed to fly it at least ten hours a month, and indeed we clocked some 220 hours over 18 months of ownership. This time around, I’ve only flown our Stinson 40 hours since buying it in August. This is partly because Pacific Northwest winters, while much milder than in Minnesota, offer far fewer days that are flyable in a strictly VFR airplane. Secondly, I’ve been quite busy finishing our hangar apartment and that’s taken up the vast majority of my time when I’m not flying for work.

Still, I know there is nothing worse for an airplane—or a pilot!—than sitting on the ground, and so I’ve tried to take the Stinson for at least a short flight once every week or two to get the oil up to temp. Unfortunately for the last month it has been imprisoned in its hangar by an impressively solid 44-by-15-foot Higher Power hydraulic door frame, which we assembled and hoisted into place before we had power in the hangar to actually open it. The electrician finally showed up only yesterday after several weeks’ delay. In the interim, we have had some beautiful VFR days that hint at the coming of spring, and I’ve been rather frustrated at my inability to take my flightless bird aloft.

Yes, I have been flying the Boeing 737 plenty—a bit more than I’d like, actually. And I’ll admit, there have been periods of my life where airline flying scratched that itch I’ve had since childhood. It just doesn’t quite do the trick right now. This probably seems absurd to the multitude of young pilots just beginning their careers, casting about for any bit of flight time they can snag and dreaming of the prospect of getting their hands on anything that burns jet-A. I know this; I was that kid once. To me, it doesn’t seem so long ago.

When I started flying in 1994, I had just turned thirteen. Age and finances dictated that flight lessons were a once-a-month event, and I remember the intense yearning that accompanied each ground-bound interval. I thought about flying, talked about flying, literally dreamed about flying as I mowed lawns, shoveled driveways, and did odd jobs to scratch together the $58 that would buy an hour of dual in the Cessna 150. Every once in a while I came up short, and then there was an excruciating two-month flightless gap—and one of eleven weeks in which I tearfully contemplated quitting. As I got older and found steady work, though, the lessons became more frequent, especially in the run-up to my 16th and 17th birthdays. Nothing made me happier than being able to fly most every week. It was in this frame of mind that I chose to pursue a flying career.

At eighteen, I headed to the University of North Dakota and, unleashed by my sudden freedom to amass eye-watering student loans, seldom went three days without flying. I was in hog heaven for the first year or so. But I still remember the first time I woke up and realized, with a groan, that I had a flight scheduled for that morning. A lightbulb went off: So this is what it means to be a professional pilot. You don’t always want to fly, and you do it anyway. That realization was punctuated during my first summer of flight instructing in Southern California when I flew 400 hours in three months and had only a few days off.

Continuing to instruct during my senior year at UND, my logbook records a ten-day flightless gap from September 7 to 17, 2001. It seemed much longer, and flying felt very different thereafter. I knew that my career had just taken a drastic turn, and I steeled myself for an extended grind. In the two years after graduation, while instructing and flying Part 135 cargo, the only time I went more than two days without flying was a nine-day pause for my wedding and honeymoon. Freight dogging, in particular, was incredibly tough—in retrospect, the hardest and most dangerous flying I ever did. And yet my overarching memory of that period was how flying became completely commonplace: It was just what I did. Fascination was replaced by familiarity. I didn’t lose my love of flight, but its nature changed markedly. If taking wing no longer made my heart flutter, I found joy and comfort in looking down upon the unsuspecting world from my daily perch, and being truly and utterly at home.

Now being ground-bound held no measure of yearn- ing for me, for I always knew that I’d return to my home in the air soon enough. At the regional airlines, I bid schedules that created flightless gaps of weeks or even a month, the better to accommodate terrestrial pursuits like backcountry camping, motorcycling, and international travel. I got back into general aviation, started flying old taildraggers, and rediscovered the sort of flight that still makes my heart go pitter-patter (sea- planes, gliders, and skydiving do the trick, too). When I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease and was grounded from flying airliners while awaiting a special issuance medical, sport pilot rules still allowed me to fly a Piper J-3 Cub, which was a great comfort as I pondered the possibility of a life in which the sky was no longer home. My return to the flight deck after four months’ absence was a joyful affair, and I vowed never to take my privileged position for granted again.

And then, after I’d been hired at my current airline, Dawn and I decided to sell our home and the Pacer, buy a 42-foot sailboat, and run away to sea. I transferred to a highly seasonal fleet and base that allowed me to take lots of time off during the cruising season, and for the first time since I was 13, I voluntarily ventured no higher than sea level for months at a time. Bearded and shirtless, I’d look up from tropical anchorages to spy an airliner flying far overhead, and it’d seem like a relic from another lifetime. Every eight weeks or so I’d endure a brutal shave and dig my mildew-spotted uniform out of the hanging locker, and then I’d commute up to Atlanta to reacquaint myself with the pleasures of flying the Boeing 757. It was always slightly unsettling at first, but by leg two it would be like I’d never left.

That’s what it feels like right now, as our roaring Stinson lifts from the grass and claws its way above the towering firs, revealing a striking panorama: the tree- lined, deep-blue ribbon of Hood Canal, backed by the snow-blanketed breadth of the jagged Olympics. It’s been eight weeks, but Dawn and I and our faithful old Stinson are comfortably back in our home element. The Franklin growls steadily as we gain altitude, and the full glory of our adopted corner of the world—snow-capped volca- noes, rolling hills, an intricate maze of saltwater coves and passages, sleepy fishing villages, gleaming steel cities, and—over it all—a dark-green carpet of giant firs and cedars—unveils itself before our eyes. This, too, is home. Here I am content. Here, with my adventurous wife by my side and with a good old airplane in which to explore our fascinating world, my wandering heart is full.

This column first appeared in the June 2023/Issue 938 print edition of FLYING.

The post A Flightless Bird Returns to the Skies appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today’s Top Pick is a 1949 Stinson 108-3.

The Stinson 108 series of rag-and-tube aircraft were among the most popular models in the general aviation boom in the wake of World War II. Its four-seat layout set it apart from typical high-wing taildraggers of the time, most of which had just two seats. The Stinson was more like a roomy family car when compared with Piper Cubs, Taylorcrafts, and Luscombes. Indeed, the company called certain utility versions of the 108 “station wagons.”

The 108 made its debut in 1946 as an enlarged derivative of the earlier Stinson Voyager and progressed through a series of improved versions, including the 108-1, 108-2, and 108-3. Each successive model came with improvements such as more powerful engines and redesigned controls. Production was brisk and Stinson built more than 5,000 108s before Piper acquired the company in 1948. Piper continued to assemble Stinson aircraft from the existing supply of parts and sold them over several years into the 1950s, but the acquisition essentially marked the end for Stinson.

This Stinson 1949 108-3 has 738 hours on the airframe and 215 hours on its 165 hp Franklin engine. The aircraft underwent a restoration in 2012. Its panel includes a Garmin GNC 250XL GPS/com with a moving map, GTX 320A transponder, and vintage instruments that are new or overhauled.

Pilots interested in owning a classic aircraft that continues to serve as practical transportation while drawing a crowd at the airport should consider this 1949 Stinson 108-3, which is available for $125,000 on AircraftForSale.

You can arrange financing of the aircraft through FLYING Finance. For more information, email info@flyingfinance.com.

• FLYING Magazine: Approachable Aircraft: Stinson 108
• FLYING Magazine: Pilots Gather at the 2022 Stinson Summit
• FLYING Magazine: His and Hers Stinsons
• Plane & Pilot: Stinson 108 “Voyager”
• Plane & Pilot: Rocky Mountain Turbulence In An Old Stinson
• The Aviation Consumer: Buying the Old Ones: Homework Mandatory

The post This 1949 Stinson 108-3 Is a Classic ‘AircraftForSale’ Top Pick with Lots of Vintage Charm appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

While there are women out there who own and fly these pieces of aviation history, they create a special cadre of pilots.

In honor of Women’s History month, FLYING caught up with a few of these pilots to find out what made them gravitate to the vintage machines.

A Rare Vintage Biplane, and Summer Martell, Port Townsend, Washington

Martell is a 15,000-hour pilot who holds CFI, CFII, and ATP MEL certificates and type ratings in the Gulfstream 100, Gulfstream 200, Falcon 2000, and Falcon 900 EX. She’s also a designated pilot examiner (DPE).

Martell is the proud owner of a 1931 Student Prince biplane that belonged to her father.

“He was a newly minted private pilot. He’d learned to fly in Cessnas but his friends that owned and flew vintage planes loaned him their books on vintage flying by authors Gordon Baxter, Ernie Gann, and Richard Bach, and he was swept away by the romance of the stories involving antique airplanes, especially biplanes. When he saw the Student Prince for sale at Harvey Field, he was smitten. He said, ‘It smiled at me, so I had to buy it.’”

As a teen she joined her father for flights, eventually learning to fly herself.

The Student Prince is an open cockpit design, which, according to Martell, makes the piloting experience much more visceral.

“I could feel the sky as I flew through it, I could feel the temperature, the humidity. I could smell the world at 80 mph. I felt like a dog riding in the back of a pickup, noting all the layers of smells. Saltwater, freshly mowed hay, and pine trees,” she recalls, adding that the Student Prince, which was designed to be a trainer, was a good fit for teenage Martell.

“The biplane is beautiful from any angle, and it always draws a crowd, so I was never lonesome when I landed somewhere. And it took good care of me from day one. Like a patient schooling horse, the Prince forgave my beginner’s fumbles as I began learning my way around the sky, and later, how to negotiate the transition of sky to earth in a brief few seconds while the world ahead of me became completely obscured by the rising nose of the biplane to its landing attitude, leaving me with a forward view of three of the Kinner engine’s five cylinders and nothing else. The Student Prince forgave my ricochets and hard landings, and somehow, despite my best efforts to do otherwise, it managed to stay between the runway lights as I struggled to keep the nose ahead of the tail.”

The airplane has produced some strong memories, such as the first time she flew solo.

“I hooted and hollered after takeoff, but became a bit somber on downwind without the view of the back of my instructor’s head in the front cockpit. Oh boy, I really was alone. But I did it! It felt so great. That airplane has always been my champion. The second favorite memory was hand-propping it for the first time. Scary, but very confidence boosting once I’d done it.”

When asked if she has a bucket list vintage airplane she would like to fly, Martell replies, “The Alexander Eaglerock biplane that hangs in perpetuity from the ceiling above the international arrivals and departures at Sea-Tac International Airport [KSEA]. I understand preservation has its place, but it always makes me a little sad when I see that plane, motionless in the rafters, gathering dust. It is so reminiscent of the Student Prince, that I feel I could easily slip into the back cockpit and take that airplane upstairs for some fun. And every time I pass by it, in my mind’s eye, I do just that. I fantasize that I fly it south with the setting sun, never to return.”

Her advice for people who want to buy and fly a vintage airplane?

“Talk to pilots who own/fly vintage planes. They love to talk about them. They may even offer to take you flying. Bribing them with pie can be effective. Read those stories by Baxter, Gann, and Bach. If the vintage airplane bug bites you hard enough, who knows? Perhaps a vintage airplane with a for sale sign will smile at you.”

Jan Johnson, First Lady of the L-birds, Hayward, California

Johnson, who has 1,060 hours total time, owns a 1944 Vultee Stinson L-5E Sentinel ambulance, a 1945 Vultee Stinson L-5G Sentinel ambulance, a 1951 Cessna LC-126C (military 195) ambulance.

Johnson began her aviation career as a flight attendant, then decades later after entering the medical field, she decided to pursue a private pilot certificate. To her, that meant getting an airplane of her own—and she was drawn to the classic lines of vintage taildraggers.

It was Johnson’s first visit to EAA AirVenture in 2010—in particular a walk through the Vintage parking—that activated her interest.

“My first visit, with two ‘AirVenture first-timer’ pilot buddies. Walking through Vintage, we came upon ‘Interstate 195’ parking, where all the Cessna 195s are lined up. Looking down a row of bumped-cowl classic taildraggers is a sight to behold. I was immediately smitten with the design of the long fuselage, the art deco interior styling, and the big Jacobs 300-hp, seven-cylinder radial powerplant standing proudly up front. They look sleek and fast even standing still. I researched the airplane that night in our motorhome in Camp Scholler, and upon returning home, I set forth on my quest to own one of these beautiful airplanes.”

“My very first airplane was a 1951 Cessna LC-126C. I was attracted to the gorgeous lines of the classic Businessliner. My particular LC-126C having documented military history was a bonus.”

The airplanes Johnson is drawn to are known in the warbird world as “L birds.” The term comes from their military designations that begin with the letter L for “liaison.” They were used as reconnaissance aircraft, artillery spotting, light transport, and air ambulances.

Johnson flew her LC-126C to Oshkosh in 2015 and 2016, and was invited to be part of the “Ladies Love Taildraggers Day” in EAA Vintage.

“It’s a real honor to have your airplane brought up to the Bill and Myrt Rose Park, near the Red Barn, and be interviewed by EAA Chairman Ray Johnson (no relation). Each year, he interviews three women who flew their vintage or classic airplanes to Oshkosh. Fifteen minutes of fame was never sweeter.”

Johnson sold the LC-126C after four years because she found another airplane, a 1945 Stinson L-5G that struck her fancy.

“It fits me perfectly!” she explains, noting that as she stands over six feet tall, finding an airplane that fits can be a challenge. “I ended up purchasing that plane after the Cessna left my hangar. What a great little airplane the L-5 was to fly! Responsive, nimble—and with controls as smooth as butter.”

Johnson flew the Stinson L-5G from Hayward, California, to Oshkosh in 2018, and once again found herself interviewed by Ray Johnson.

Last summer, she had the opportunity to acquire another Stinson, an  L-5E, “complete with World War II military history,” she says. “Each plane has a personality, and getting to know both of them has been fun. Then, in early 2023, I had another Cessna LC-126C fall into my lap. My partner and I purchased it together, and we’ll return this plane to flight after sitting for 30 years. When a Cessna 195/LC-126 comes into your life, you don’t think twice. You just let it happen. And consider yourself fortunate.” 

Johnson’s interest in vintage aircraft extends to multiengine designs as well, which she attributes to a ride aboard a Douglas DC-3 she took in the mid-1990s when she was working as a flight attendant for a national airline.

“I went for a scenic flight over the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco in a Douglas DC-3, owned by the Otis Spunkmeyer Cookie Company. It was a breathtaking flight and unforgettable—the epitome of the glamorous ‘Golden Age of Aviation.’ The cockpit was open, and once airborne, we were free to ‘move about the cabin’ and make small talk with the pilots. It definitely ‘set the hook’ for me with vintage airplanes. After that flight, a pilot let me pose for photos in his beautiful Stearman.”

Johnson’s vintage airplane bucket list includes a Stearman, a Waco, a Beech Staggerwing, and a Howard DGA-15. She is currently learning to fly a 1940s-era Twin Beech.

“It has two Pratt & Whitney R-985 radials, a bullet-shaped nose in between, and a sleek tailwheel design that harkens back to 1940s Hollywood,” she says. “I envision Myrna Loy and Bette Grable stepping out of the luxuriously-appointed cabin and waving to their fans.”

Advice for people who want to buy and fly a vintage airplane?

“Do your research! Owning, maintaining, and flying a vintage airplane requires time and money. A lot of it. Find a pilot who you can trust and ask them a lot of questions. Join the various type clubs online and introduce yourself. If possible, talk to mechanics who know the old planes. Go imaginary ‘plane shopping’ at any of the large fly-ins across the country. Walk up to total strangers (well, there really are no ‘strangers’ in aviation) who own the type of airplane you like. Almost always, they’ll let you climb into the pilot seat. Try it on for size. Can you reach the rudder pedals? How is visibility?  Scrutinize each plane—things you like vs. things that may hinder you buying one. Availability, cost, maintenance, and spare parts. You can never go wrong with a 1940s Piper J-3 Cub, Taylorcraft, Aeronca, Stinson, or early Cessna.”

She also recommends getting your tailwheel endorsement, as most vintage airplanes are tailwheel-equipped.

For aircraft acquisition, the combination of the aging pilot population, persistence and determination, and being in the right place at the right time will get you there, says Johnson.

“Both my Stinsons came from pilots in their 80s who could no longer fly. I’m certain that all they want is for someone to take care of their airplane, fly it often, and display it at air shows and fly-ins. And keep the mystique and magic alive. That’s my personal mission with my airplanes. Share them with others and honor the history.”

Heather ‘Rat’ McNevin, Northfield, Minnesota

McNevin has 1,100 hours total time and holds a commercial certificate with single- and multiengine ratings, CFI/CFII/MEI instructor certificates, and type ratings in the DC-3 and B-25.

Heather McNevin, known as Rat (short for Ramp Rat), says she doesn’t own an airplane yet, partly because there are too many out there to fly. The aviation bug hit her early. She started taking lessons at age 14 at Aiken Municipal Airport—Steve Kurtz Field (KAIT) in Aiken, Minnesota. She trained in both a Piper Cherokee and a 1946 Aeronca Champ owned by her instructor and figured out pretty quickly she liked the Champ the best.

“The Champ felt most like flying a fighter plane to me, so it became my favorite,” she says. She soloed at the age of 16 in the Champ and, on the first landing—which she greased—she let out a whoop that, according to the people watching from the ramp, was heard over the sound of the airplane.

The Champ was the first in a long line of vintage airframes.

“Since my initial Champ flying, I’ve flown a few other vintage aircraft: Navion, Waco, DC-3, T-6, BT-13, B25, Stearman, PA-12, J-4, Aeronca Chief, Globe Swift, [and] PT-22. I feel more comfortable in an old, loud aircraft with just the basic instruments than I do in a brand new glass cockpit.”

According to McNevin, you don’t so much fly a vintage airplane as you become part of its legacy.

“I’ve flown many vintage aircraft and enjoyed something about each of them. When I’m flying that airplane, I’m part of a long line of aviators that have experienced the joy of flight in that aircraft, and it’s my responsibility to share that magic with others. It’s like when I have the privilege of flying warbirds, I think of the necessity to share the stories of the people that flew them during the war because some of them didn’t make it home. These old machines shaped the world. They reduced travel time, bolstered business, connected us all, and fought oppression. I like the feel of flying along and realizing ‘this is how aviation started, this is what it was like’ or ‘this was once the best, most luxurious method of travel!’ For me, it’s not just flying, but being a steward of history.”

Instead of a bucket list when it comes to airplanes, McNevin has a “to-do list” of airplanes she would like to fly.

“I have a type rating in the DC-3, but I have wanted to fly a specific DC-3 for over a decade. I remember seeing the yellow DC-3 ‘Duggy’ at Oshkosh for many years, and every time I’d see it I said I would one day fly that aircraft. I would even tell Duggy the DC-3 that one day we will fly together. Amazingly enough, I found out Duggy lives not that far from me and may be returning to the skies.

“My recent type rating was in the B-25, and I really enjoyed the training and learning how they designed and operated aircraft in the ‘30s and ‘40s. I’d like to continue to fly other bombers of the day and see how they compare. I think the B-29 would be amazing, as I’ve recently been on a reading binge involving their missions. I have decided it would be cool to fly every aircraft type that the WASPs flew.”

Her advice to people who want to buy and fly a vintage airplane? “Be prepared to maintain it correctly. These aircraft are old and a little TLC goes a long way. Don’t skimp on maintenance. Be a good caretaker of history. Also, make sure to get good training, as with any new venture into an unfamiliar aircraft, and share your aircraft with as many people as you can so they can see and appreciate it. You’ll make new friends and it’s always fun when someone admires your aircraft.”

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The L-13 was initially developed by Stinson, and the first two prototypes were constructed in their Michigan facility. When Stinson’s parent company, Consolidated-Vultee, sold the Stinson division to Piper in 1948, the L-13 was retained and ultimately marketed and built as a Convair. Roughly 300 examples were built between 1946 and 1947.

In photos, the L-13’s size seems to be on par with other liaison aircraft of the era. In person, however, its relatively large size becomes apparent. With side-by-side seating for the two occupants up front, the cabin can also accommodate two stretchers, enabling air ambulance duties. 

The aircraft originally came with a six-cylinder, geared Franklin O-425-9 that produced 245 horsepower. Because of the massive wing and airframe it was asked to pull through the air, cruise speed of the L-13 was only 92 mph. Fortunately, the low-speed STOL performance was exceptional.

Sporting an empty weight of 2,023 pounds, a “design gross weight” of 2,900 pounds, and a “max overload” weight of 3,700 pounds, the L-13 was far heavier than other 2-seat liaison aircraft of the era. Nevertheless, at 2,700 pounds, it was able to take off in 230 feet and land in 227 feet. At that weight, the flight manual lists stall speed as 43 mph, and the company’s public relations material noted that to achieve this landing distance, the pilot must fly the approach at 43.5 mph. 

Though the wing was entirely different from existing Stinson wings, it did incorporate the leading-edge slots as found in the smaller 108. These helped to maintain airflow over the ailerons when flying at high angles of attack, thus preserving roll authority during low-speed STOL operations.

More Stinson DNA is evident in the fuselage—the occupants are protected by a steel-tube structure, again like the 108. Given the airplane’s intended mission of operating in challenging, remote areas, the increased crashworthiness must have been appreciated by pilots and passengers alike.

Because many of these areas were so remote, the military demanded that the aircraft be easy to transport. Stinson obliged with some creative innovations. Most obvious is the aircraft’s ability to be folded down to a small size. By folding the wings backward and the horizontal stabilizer upward, it could be made small enough to load into the back of transport aircraft of the era such as the Fairchild C-82 Packet.

The military also wanted to be able to tow the aircraft behind a Jeep using existing roads. To accommodate this, Stinson enabled the main gear to be pivoted inward to reduce the width. While the gear were still too wide to fit into the tire tracks of the Jeep’s narrow track, they folded to within a half inch (61.6 inches) of the Jeep’s overall width.

When the military desired to transport the aircraft across vast distances where no suitable roads existed, they could tow it behind a larger aircraft with more range, such as a Douglas C-47. This could be accomplished without having to remove the propeller at speeds of up to 150 mph. When the aircraft arrived over the destination, the L-13 pilot would release from the tow cable, start the engine, and proceed to the landing site under their own power. 

As no engine heat would be available with the engine shut down, one hopes those long flights were conducted with the winterized L-13B. Designed specifically for operations in cold climates, the B-model came equipped with a 50,000 BTU combustion heater, engine intake vanes, and blankets fastened to the walls of the cabin to retain heat.

As the military transitioned to helicopters to handle much of the L-13’s intended roles, the L-13 fleet was gradually released to civil owners. Faced with the reportedly challenging task of maintaining the relatively rare O-425 engine, many were converted to small radial engines such as 300 hp Jacobs and Lycomings. These radials provided increased horsepower and were easier to maintain than the original flat-six. 

Today, approximately 15 remain on the FAA registry. Several are on static display in museums, and a handful are maintained and flown by dedicated owners, casting large, slow-moving shadows upon observers below.

The post The Large, Slow-Moving Shadow of the Convair L-13 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

An aircraft with a long production history starting in Michigan, the multiple Stinson models have seen a wide variety of modifications over the years. Type clubs such as this serve as custodians of information about unique and antique aircraft and are one of the most important methods of sharing best practices for owner maintenance, information about upgrades, STCs, potential maintenance concerns, and piloting techniques.

“We are pleased to again bring together the members of the Stinson family,” said Brett Chilcott, owner of a 1947 Stinson 108-2. “Every time we do this we al get the benefits of camaraderie and information exchange. It makes us all more effective at keeping these pieces of aviation history alive and functioning in our general aviation community.”

Passing Along Resources and Knowledge to the Next Generation

While not every Stinson owner makes it to such an event, those that do learn and then go back to their home aviation communities and share resources with others. For an aircraft that last saw updates to maintenance manuals and even engine maintenance manuals, especially for those that are still operating Franklin engines, decades ago, these events keep knowledge from dying with the older generation of pilots. The last generation of Stinson operators shares their knowledge with the current generation, and the current generation has a duty to share information with the next generation. This is how we keep historic aircraft flying for another generation.

Many of the Stinsons present represent a unique merging of antique and modern. Some had older Franklin engines; some were modified to newer, more current engines with more horsepower. Some had classic VFR-only panels; some were upgraded to modern avionics that were as capable as most modern new production glass panel aircraft. A historic, classic airframe, the Stinson has proven to be adaptable and still relevant to flying in the modern aviation system. This is something that many antique aircraft have been unable to do. Stinsons have proven to be classic and adaptable for modern owners who still love flying them.

• READ MORE: His and Hers Stinsons

I include myself in that group. This event marked a five-year anniversary for my wife and me in the ownership of a 1947 Stinson 108-1. I fly the aircraft regularly to and from the practical tests I give as an FAA designated pilot examiner (DPE), but we also fly it for fun, and I still get a little cranky when it has been too long between flights. My wife will confirm this.

If you are a Stinson owner or operator, join the International Stinson Club. If you don’t own a Stinson, but have another classic aircraft for which there is a type club, join it. I promise your membership will pay dividends in knowledge about your aircraft and help support the communities that keep these pieces of aviation history flying.

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On the spectrum of popularity, various aircraft types ebb and flow from decade to decade, and the most sought-after models become easy to spot. Cessna 170s and Carbon Cubs are currently among the most desirable types, and while their popularity and reputation are not necessarily undeserved, the resulting prices often stretch out of reach for many.

Less obvious are the underappreciated and undervalued airplanes that hide in the less-traveled corners of classified listings, and one that presently seems to be lurking there is the Stinson 108. The 108 is a four-place, steel-tube-and-fabric 1940s-era taildragger powered by a variety of engines. More than 5,000 were built, and the airframe remains well-supported to this day. We examine here its strengths and weaknesses, as well as explore how the 108 ranks as an approachable aircraft.

Model History

The 108 was first offered in 1946, and a total of 5,261 production aircraft were built through July 1948. Four primary subtypes were available: the 108 (or “straight 108”), 108-1, 108-2 and 108-3.

The “straight 108” was the initial model. It came equipped with a 150 hp Franklin engine and a gross weight of 2,150 pounds. The 108-1 saw an increase in gross weight to 2,230 pounds. The 108-2 came equipped with a 165 hp Franklin engine and bungee-based rudder trim.

The 108-3 was the first model that differed visually. The tail was increased in size and stood a foot taller than the preceding models. Unfortunately, the rudder itself was only slightly enlarged, and many pilots complain that the 108-3 is more difficult to handle in crosswinds and while taxiing in windy conditions. Rudder trim was provided via a trim tab, and the gross weight grew to 2,400 pounds.

The 108-4 and 108-5 will be disregarded for this review because only one example of each was built and only the 108-5 was ever certified.

Two trim levels were offered. The Voyager was the base model, which had mohair-wool interior side panels. The “Flying Station Wagon” came with wood interior panels that resembled the “woody” cars of the era and added a structurally reinforced rear floor that raised the weight capacity from 350 to 600 pounds. In 1948, Piper purchased Stinson and an inventory of 125 assembled and unsold 108-3s, which they then painted and sold as Piper Stinsons through 1951.

Market Snapshot

It has been said that every Bellanca Viking costs $150,000. The implication is that you’ll spend that amount in one of two ways: either in the form of repairs, making an inexpensive example safe and airworthy, or in the form of purchasing a pristine model in the first place. To a certain degree, the same logic can be applied to the Stinson 108.

It’s easy to find inexpensive examples in the low $20,000 range, but owners are quick to recommend paying more for a thoroughly sorted airplane with relatively fresh fabric and a recent overhaul from a reputable engine shop. The higher acquisition price can be difficult to stomach, but many have discovered the hard way that it’s costlier to individually tackle all of the issues that make an inexpensive model that much more affordable. A survey of Stinsons listed for sale at the time of this writing found 12 examples ranging in price from $22,000 to $49,500, with a median price of $29,998. All were equipped with Franklin engines, though one airplane with the Lycoming O-360 conversion did previously sell for just over $60,000.

Many 108s have metalized fuselages, eliminating fabric entirely. While the prospect of never having to replace costly fabric is enticing, the metal conversions reportedly create a louder cabin environment and are also a bit heavier, which reduces the useful load. Like any older tailwheel aircraft with steel tubing, the aft longeron tubing should be closely inspected for any signs of rust prior to purchase. Likewise, the aluminum wing spars should be carefully inspected for signs of corrosion.

Engine Options

Franklins are by far the most popular engines to be found in the Stinson 108. Named for their rated horsepower, the 150 and 165 are the most common, with a 1,200-hour TBO. The more powerful 220 has a 1,500-hour TBO, and the relatively rare 180 has a 2,000-hour TBO.

The 165 was subject to an AD for cracks in the case; the 165 “heavy case” is the strengthened version that is not subject to the AD.

The Franklin engine can be a blessing for the buyer if the engine has been maintained by a Franklin expert. The unfamiliarity of the engine tends to scare many prospective owners away, which reduces the airplane’s value accordingly. Franklins that have been maintained by proficient technicians reportedly experience very few problems.

But that lower resale value becomes a curse when selling a Stinson, and a Franklin that’s maintained like a Continental or Lycoming will likely experience constant issues. Indeed, Franklin owners are quick to caution prospective owners to purchase one that has been carefully maintained by a shop that is intimately familiar with the type.

Check Out More: Approachable Aircraft

The availability of engine parts such as crankshafts can occasionally be a challenge, but with the dedication of companies such as franklinparts.com, even the most difficult- to-source parts can be found at prices comparable to Continental and Lycoming parts. Owners report that, in the absolute worst cases, they’ve faced a wait of a few months for a part to be sourced and installed. A hassle, to be sure, but the inconvenience is somewhat balanced by the relatively low acquisition cost of these Franklin-equipped airplanes.

Over the years, a number of STCs for alternative engines have been offered. Most Stinson owners agree that the Lycoming O-360 and Continental IO-360 are the most desirable engines, primarily because of their higher power, light weight, and the ease of finding parts and service. Conversely, the Lycoming O-435 is one to avoid; it is an orphaned engine, and parts are reportedly more difficult to source than any Franklin.

Flight Characteristics

While reviewing the obscure Miles Aerovan, writer David Ogilvy once reflected, “The absence of much structure in the front of the cockpit was a mild discomfort to an imaginative mind.” Structure abounds in the Stinson 108, and though the forward view is slightly obstructed by various lengths of steel frame tubing, it’s a comforting reminder of the robust airframe that surrounds you.

Perhaps because of the Stinson’s Detroit origins, the interior is reminiscent of a classic automobile. Many sport classy, art-deco-era instrument panels with side windows that slide back, providing a healthy blast of fresh air, and the woody-style side panels that adorn the interior of 108s in Flying Station Wagon trim.

Like many Piper elevator-trim systems, the 108 uses an overhead crank. And like those Pipers, there’s a trick to remembering which way is nose up and which is nose down; when the knob passes over the left seat from front to back, it’s nose up, and when it passes over the left seat from back to front, it’s nose down.

The 108 wing is versatile: It can carry a lot of payload, or it can provide great short-field performance at lower weights. With a single occupant and half tanks, expect takeoff ground rolls in the 500-foot range with the 165 hp Franklin, and count on landings shorter than that.

Takeoff performance suffers at maximum takeoff weight, increasing to around 2,500 feet to clear a 50-foot obstacle. But in exchange, most 108s will provide a useful load of 900 to 1,000 pounds. Speed varies by engine. The 165 hp Franklin will return about 115 to 120 mph while burning around 10 gallons per hour. More-powerful engines greatly enhance takeoff-and-climb performance but only increase cruise speed by 10 to 20 mph.

Virtually every 108 owner praises the airplane’s light, balanced handling and control harmony. Stalls are docile and amount to a mush with plenty of tactile warning and no discernible break or wing drop. Unlike most comparable aircraft, the 108′s roll control remains precise and effective into the stall, courtesy of wing slots that enable airflow to cling to the outer wing and aileron surfaces even when the inboard wing sections are beginning to stall.

Flaps are extended via a manual floor-mounted lever. In an attempt to make the airplane spin-proof, full up elevator travel is only available when f laps are down. When the flaps are up, a tab on the flap lever itself limits the maximum up elevator to approximately 9 degrees less than full up travel.

Firm landings are softened by the 108′s plush suspension design. Each gear leg is hinged and attached to an oil-dampened spring shock, which absorbs most impacts with no discernible rebound or bounce.

Ownership Experience

Despite being a 76-year-old design, the 108 is remarkably well-supported today. Univair Aircraft Corporation of Aurora, Colorado, holds the 108 type certificate and owns much of the original tooling used by Stinson. Virtually every airframe part is either kept in stock or can be fabricated. Owners of the 108 also enjoy an active owner community, primarily in the form of the International Stinson Club. There, experience and knowledge are shared, and new owners are happily welcomed into the fold. Airworthiness directives are few and straightforward. Only about five apply to the airframe, and most involve one-time fixes.

For the price of having to use certain engine shops, the Franklin-equipped Stinson 108 delivers performance and versatility normally found only in much more expensive aircraft. The unique engines provide discounted ownership of a capable four-place taildragger with outstanding load-carrying ability and short-field flexibility.

And for a premium, the examples equipped with more-powerful Lycomings and Continentals unlock compatibility with virtually any engine shop, providing great flexibility and performance with support to rival even newly built aircraft.

This story appeared in the January-February 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

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