Since I got back into home flight simulation, I look forward to the winter as the cold weather guarantees a few more weekends that I get to spend indoors, guilt-free. The winter makes it easier to schedule a weekend afternoon flight in my flight simulator, no matter what the real weather is doing outside.

One goal I set was to begin the BVARTCC WINGS series of training flights, which are self-paced and available to be flown whenever there are live air traffic controllers from the VATSIM service controlling the Greater Boston airspace online.

To help complete the WINGS program, I set the secondary goal of learning to use the G1000 for IFR flying, with the BVARTCC WINGS flights serving as an ideal live training environment. The volunteer VATSIM air traffic controllers watch and assess each WINGS flight and issue a pass or fail rating at the end, turning each into a mini-check ride, all from the comfort of your home  simulator. The WINGS flights also require that pilots follow the correct communication and navigation procedures for transition in and out of the airspace in the Greater Boston Class Bravo.

Although many sim pilots have flown the full series of BVARTCC WINGS flights, I am always surprised at how few real-world pilots are aware that this program exists and can be completed with only a basic flight simulator.

The BVARTCC WINGS training program is broken down into six VFR flights, typically flown first, and then 24 IFR flights, all designed to be flown sequentially. As stated in the introductory reading, a BVARTCC club member may fly the flights in any order, and skip flights, but you must eventually fly all 30 flights to become a WINGS graduate.

In summer 2022, when I began the WINGS VFR flights, I decided to fly each of them in order, predicting that I would enjoy the learning and preparation required to successfully pass them. Each flight features increasing levels of difficulty requiring some studying and preflight planning before launching on them.

I found that the WINGS VFR program was an enjoyable way to knock the rust off my VFR Class D, C, and B airspace and communication skills as I prepared for the start of the WINGS IFR program. My relatively slow pace fit my learning goals and available free time, but if you take up the challenge of the WINGS program, you can choose the speed that works for you, provided you fly each flight when there are controllers actively managing the airspace.

BVARTCC publishes a schedule of controller coverage and updates its discord channel when volunteer controllers are working the airspace so you can plan ahead for your flights. When flying in the BVARTCC, you are expected to set your simulator to the live weather conditions.

Microsoft Flight Simulator (MSFS) and X-Plane (XP) will reference current METARs based on your departure airport, which are updated roughly every 15 minutes, and will build the weather conditions in the simulator to match the real world. Each flight simulation program has its strengths and weaknesses concerning the execution of live weather in the simulation. Your experience will vary.

• READ MORE: Here Are 2 Quick VFR Flights to Try on Your Home Flight Simulator

However, one benefit of METAR-based live weather is that you can use ForeFlight or Navigraph on your tablet or secondary screen to check the weather at your departure and destination and have confidence that you’ll experience those conditions when you are flying in-sim. Accurate winds and barometric pressure settings are important components to using live air traffic control services like VATSIM so that weather conditions you’re experiencing in the sim are the same as the controllers are referencing when assigning runways for takeoff and landing.

I also set the simulator to the current time of day so that daylight changes realistically over the course of my flight. There are some additional basic hardware and software items you should have on your PC to get the most out of flying in the BVARTCC with live air traffic control. See the “Introduction” and “Getting Started” tabs of the WINGS section of the BVARTCC website for more information.

WINGS IFR 1: Introduction to IFR

The WINGS IFR 1 is aptly titled the Introduction to IFR flying. It is the IFR equivalent to a trip around the traffic pattern at KBOS.

To successfully pass the flight, one must file and fly the LOGAN4 departure, with vectors expected to bring the aircraft around to intercept the ILS approach back to the active runway for landing. All of the taxiing and ground movement must be done correctly as well, requiring full attention from startup to shutdown. Making a major taxiing mistake would fail the flight, so my iPad running ForeFlight was prepped with the aircraft checklist, map (zoomed in for taxiing) and the ILS chart for the active runway preloaded onto the “Plates” tab.

KBOS ranks well within the top 10 busiest airports in the VATSIM system measured by total aircraft movements per year. In the real-world, KBOS is typically just inside the top 30 for all international airports, but in VATSIM, KBOS is well-liked for its dynamic New England weather and challenging wind conditions.

It also is a popular destination for sim pilots who depart from Europe and fly across the Atlantic ocean and time their flights to conclude when there’s live ATC coverage from VATSIM controllers at KBOS. Someday I hope to make that cross-ocean journey, once my IFR and widebody jet operational knowledge is at the requisite level for the undertaking.

• READ MORE: Our Pilots of the Future May Share Sim Stories

With cross-ocean goals in the back of my mind, my journey into IFR flying began at the Signature Flight Support ramp on the northwest side of KBOS as it is the main parking area for general aviation aircraft. The winds were 19kts, gusting 28kts (above my personal minimums in the real world) and the Cessna 172—the recommended aircraft for this flight—was rocking in its chocks when I began the engine start procedures.

MSFS models wind noise, and I could hear the wind blowing and the airplane creaking while I started working through the checklist. With the engine running, I checked the ATIS, dialed in the correct frequency to request my IFR clearance and patiently waited my turn to key the mic.

The volunteer controllers do a great job managing “the weekend rush” of flight sim pilots seeking to fly while the airspace is live and I did my best to bide my time between the pushback requests, taxi instructions and other sim pilots opening their IFR flight plans. There aren’t always enough volunteer controllers to completely staff a given airport or airspace, so we all do our part to share this valuable resource as the controllers often have to stretch themselves across the clearance, ground, and tower communication roles.

Sometimes there are waits to get started but I’m always comforted by the fact that no real avgas is being burned. The busy communication frequencies offer the added challenge of being succinct on the radio when it is your time to push to talk.

After 10 minutes, I found my opening, asked for and then nervously read back my clearance, certain that all the other sim pilots could hear how green I was. As instructed, I filed my flight plan before starting my flight so that the controllers had my virtual flight strip on their display ahead of time. Soon I was following the taxiing toward Runway 9 following at least six aircraft taxiing ahead of me, holding at various intersections, with more sim pilots receiving their permissions for pushback from their respective gates. I could see three aircraft in the air on final for Runway 4-Right.

Until this point, I had never experienced such a busy live flight sim environment, and it was really exciting and immersive. The frequency was jammed with controllers conducting the symphony of aircraft movement, and from listening I could tell that there were pilots from all across the world taking part in this flight simulation experience.

• READ MORE: Highlights From FlightSimExpo 2024

Accents from the United Kingdom and the southern United States mixed in with pilots from New England, the Midwest, Latin America, and Germany as well. The international and domestic mix of pilots felt and sounded just like the real KBOS on a normal day.

Passing intersection Charlie on taxiway Bravo, my Ground controller offered me a takeoff from Runway 4-Left. I fumbled for the LOGAN4 departure chart on ForeFlight to verify the amended takeoff instruction, a quick reminder that the simulated IFR flight environment can be dynamic and that I must also be ready for a change of plans.

The 4L takeoff prevented me from waiting in the growing line of airliners cueing for Runway 9. Soon I was cleared for takeoff and lifting off from 4L, fighting the gusty conditions, keeping focused on my departure heading and altitude while awaiting my first turn to heading 090. Being vectored through the busy airspace was even more exciting than my usual flight sim adventures as I could hear and see the aircraft I would be joining shortly on final approach.

The visual resolution of other traffic is not what you are accustomed to in real-world flying. Still, it is usually easy to see the navigation lights and a distant but somewhat blurry shape of the aircraft near you making see-and-avoid relatively easy. I had been handed off to Boston Approach and was soon given my final vectors to intercept the localizer for 4R.

Switching back to Boston Tower, I received my clearance to land and tried to keep my approach speed up to minimize the impact of the traffic needing to slow behind me. On short final, I could see one airliner in the air and three aircraft waiting to takeoff on Runway 9.

There would be a small audience for my landing, but I needed to shift my focus to the lateral and vertical guidance of the ILS on my G1000 PFD while trying to maintain the centerline amid a blustery winter afternoon. Although it wasn’t the smoothest landing, I was happy to be back on the ground and safely clear of 4R. Departures on Runway 9 resumed and the controller let me know I had passed the WINGS IFR 1.

Being careful to follow the taxi instructions back to the ramp at Signature, I was excited and relieved to have my first IFR flight in the books. The busy and short flight in the IFR system required my full attention, and was a fitting introduction to IFR flying. I was grateful the live weather was VFR and not at minimums.

I couldn’t have known at that time, but my next IFR flight, the WINGS IFR 2, was going to be flown in actual instrument flight conditions and would really test my rookie IFR flying skills and sim pilot decision-making.

WINGS IFR 2: VOR Navigation

To begin the WINGS IFR 2 flight, I loaded into my Cessna 172 G1000 at the Signature Flight Support ramp at Boston Logan where my WINGS IFR 1 had concluded. The weather for the afternoon flight was 3 miles visibility, light rain and ceilings around 1,000 feet, with winds at 16 knots, gusting 27 knots.

Today’s flight would take me from Boston to Providence, Rhode Island (KPVD), via the TEC route found in the FAA’s preferred route database. The purpose of the flight was to build experience navigating with the VOR radio and then land at Providence using the ILS approach onto the active runway.

Per the instructions, I filed the LOGAN4 departure, received my clearance and began my taxi. Preemptively this time, I asked the tower controller if I could depart off 4L, which would keep me out of the snarl of airliners waiting their turn for takeoff. I quickly double-checked the departure instructions, received my takeoff clearance and was soon climbing up into the soup, fighting to stay on the correct heading while being pushed around by the winds.

After a few vectored turns I was given the ATC instruction “Direct to PVD,” and turned the CRS knob on my G1000 PFD to select a radial to follow to the PVD VOR. The CDI “needle” allowed me to finetune my course to the PVD VOR, and I was on the way to Providence.

Climbing to 4,000 feet, my filed altitude, I was mostly in the clouds, occasionally getting glimpses to either side or a quick look at the sky above. It was an airborne mess of conditions I had heretofore avoided as a private pilot and as a sim pilot. The late afternoon winter sun was breaking through the clouds and the light rain on the ground at KBOS had turned to freezing rain.

I made small lateral changes to try and avoid going through thick clouds where I anticipated the rain becoming more intense. There was turbulence to contend with, and it moved the airplane around a lot, but I decided to keep hand-flying the 172 for the practice of juggling the simultaneous responsibilities of aviating, navigating and communicating with ATC.

The westerly winds I was flying against were slowing my groundspeed and the freezing rain was starting to adhere to the outside of my 172, creeping up onto the windscreen and attracting my attention. I switched on the cabin heat and pitot heat and thought about what options I had if the icing proceeded to get worse.

With the sunlight changing the color of the clouds above me, I estimated the top of the broken layer to be at 4,500 feet and figured I was one request away from a climb out into clear air, which represented my best chance for the ice to sublimate off the surfaces of the 172. ATC surprised me, letting me know there was traffic transitioning at 5,000 feet and I would need to manage at my current altitude.

I knew I had the option to declare an emergency but that would have concluded my WINGS IFR 2 flight early, without a passing grade. The icing had covered about 50 percent of my windscreen, but it was not immediately getting worse. Looking left and right, I couldn’t see a significant amount of buildup on the leading edge of the wing and still had normal control authority, so I decided to hang in there, hoping that the forecast of 5 miles visibility and a 3,000-foot ceiling at Providence was going to hold up.

The ride was not improving, and I was constantly chasing my heading and altitude in moderate turbulence. No physical discomfort in my sim cockpit, but the aircraft was moving around a lot, more than I had seen before. Having never flown in clouds for an extended amount of time, I was keeping focused on my basic instrument scan of the G1000 PFD, which included watching the attitude indicator, the altitude, the vertical speed tape, the turn coordinator arrows, and the CDI/needle of the VOR. Coming in and out of the freezing rain and into the momentary gaps of sunlight made for dynamic visuals and enhanced immersion caused by the high-fidelity winter weather modeling.

After about 30 minutes en route, I had flown over the Providence VOR and was now south of Quonset State Airport (KOQU). I was out of the cloud bank now and being given vectors to intercept the ILS for Runway 5. I had the chart loaded onto my iPad and I switched my nav radio to the correct frequency. I was vectored back to the ILS about 12 miles south of KPVD and used the extra time to think ahead of the airplane and I quickly briefed the anticipated turns and descent required to pick up the final approach course.

ATC cleared me onto the approach and then quickly cleared to land since I was the only aircraft in the area. With clouds behind me, and a low cloud deck over the Providence Airport, it got significantly darker and the wind blew my 172 all over the approach. Although the freezing rain had stopped, the cloud deck over Providence was lower and the visibility was less than what the METAR had reported before I left Boston.

The icing on my windscreen hadn’t melted and turned the approach lighting to Runway 5 into a fuzzy blur ahead of me. Fighting the wind gusts, I kept my focus on the localizer and glideslope, with occasional visual checks through the windscreen ahead.

On final approach 1.5 miles out and 500 feet above ground, I kept my speed up and my flaps at 20 degrees as I encountered low-level wind shear causing large changes on the vertical speed tape and my aircraft to shudder noticeably. Clearing the “fence” just before Runway 5 at Providence, the gusty surface winds pushed the 172 back and forth across the centerline as I tightened my grip on the yoke and worked corrections on the rudders. 50 feet above the runway, I pulled back on the throttle and tensed for a brisker than normal landing.

Once I made contact with the surface, it took a lot of rudder input to keep the airplane on the cement as I had a roughly 30-degree crosswind and wind gusts that threatened to push me into the grass. Finding an opening on the frequency, I made my clear-of-the-runway call and the controller let me know I had passed the WINGS IFR 2.

In my parking spot on the ramp in front of the Atlantic Aviation FBO building, I reflected on the strain and challenge of the 40-minute flight from Boston as the wind whipped over the control surfaces of the just shutdown 172. It was my first short cross-country flight in the IFR system, my first encounter with simulated icing conditions in the clouds and it was a challenge from start to finish with the moderate turbulence and gusty winds. Also, I was challenged to rely on VOR navigation as my main navigation source, not having done that since my private pilot training.

Admittedly, the G1000 PFD in CDI mode offered some additional situational awareness compared to a traditional steam gauge instrument and I was also running ForeFlight on my iPad.

I justify the ForeFlight map as it really aids in situational awareness since my flight simulator is connected to a single 4K TV and does not provide the peripheral vision you have in a real airplane. I use the moving map in ForeFlight to help supplement what I would normally see outside the airplane. I had made the flight more challenging by deciding to hand-fly it but I wasn’t confident that I could manage the automation provided by the autopilot and the other variables.

In future WINGS IFR series flights, I’ll need to be able to use the autopilot proficiently, so I noted this as an area for additional practice. It is one of the many features of the G1000 that I will need to better understand before getting deeper into the WINGS program.

The weather en route provided the biggest challenge, and I now had my first minutes of simulated IMC under my belt. I also contemplated how close I came to a very serious icing situation in the 172, knowing that it had no Flight-Into-Known-Icing capability. I’d like to think that I would never have found myself in that situation in a real airplane, but I was glad to have experienced it in my simulator first. Also, I’m careful to make sure the experience doesn’t build any false confidence, the images I have seen of the real icing lead me to believe that I narrowly avoided a situation that could have doomed my flight.

The MSFS2020 experience was all in the digital world, but the fidelity of it was impressive and the decision- making it prompted resulted in real stress and discomfort from the task saturation I encountered.

This feature first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Earning Your Winter WINGS appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The Atlantic hurricane season officially began June 1 and runs through November 30. While the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) has not released its official forecast for 2024 as of this writing, in an average Atlantic hurricane season the U.S. experiences 14 named storms, seven of which are hurricanes and three are major hurricanes.

Buckle up. Given the likely return of La Niña (one of three phases of the El Niño-Southern Oscillation) and record warm sea surface temperatures in February as heated as we see in mid-July, this is not good news if you were hoping for just a mediocre season. If you live and fly anywhere along the Atlantic coastal plain or the Gulf of Mexico, here’s how you can prepare for what may be a wild hurricane season.

Even though hurricane season peaks on September 10, the tropics will begin to see increased activity during the months of June, July, and August as sea surface temperatures increase and the jet stream migrates north into Canada, creating a more favorable breeding ground in the tropics. During this time, what are called tropical waves will develop in the Atlantic Ocean, Gulf of Mexico, and Caribbean Sea, forming in the tropical easterlies (winds moving from east to west). A weak area of low pressure with a closed circulation called a tropical depression may develop along one of these waves.

• READ MORE: The Ins and Outs of Pilot Weather Reports

If conditions are favorable, such as the presence of weak atmospheric wind shear over relatively warm waters, then convection can organize and strengthen into a tropical storm. Once it reaches tropical storm criteria, the National Hurricane Center (NHC) will give the storm a name. The first named storms of 2024 were Alberto and Beryl, with Chris, and Debby to follow. If you recognize a few of these names, be aware that the list is recycled every six years. The NHC points out that a name is removed from the list only “if a storm is so deadly or costly that the future use of its name for a different storm would be inappropriate for reasons of sensitivity.”

Saffir-Simpson Scale

Let’s become familiar with the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Wind Scale. This scale from 1 to 5 was introduced in the early 1970s by the NHC, using estimates of peak wind, storm surge, and minimum central pressure to describe the destruction from both water and wind for tropical cyclones making landfall.

The Saffir-Simpson scale was simplified in 2010 to be solely determined by a one-minute-average maximum sustained wind at a height of 10 meters (33 feet) above ground level. Once a tropical cyclone reaches hurricane strength (sustained wind speed of 64 knots or greater), it is assigned a category, with a Category 1 hurricane being the weakest and a Category 5 hurricane being the strongest (sustained wind speed of 137 knots or greater). There has been some interesting discussion lately to expand this open-ended scale from 5 to 6 categories given that some of the strongest Category 5 hurricanes are well above that minimum threshold and may not truly capture the potential destruction. This change, however, is unlikely to occur any time soon.

• READ MORE: How to Wrap Your Head Around Weather

Next, you should become familiar with the NHC website, where you will find all of the official guidance published by NOAA. Each named storm, tropical depression, and tropical disturbance will be tracked along with public advisories, such as watches and warnings (e.g., hurricane watch) based on the threat to people and property. You’ll also find a public discussion for the tropics when there are no named storms and a discussion for each system being tracked.

Hurricane Graphics

One product that is ubiquitous during hurricane season is the tropical cyclone forecast cone graphic. This is designed to depict the expected track, location, and strength of the tropical cyclone over the next five days. It also shows the cone of uncertainty.

According to the NHC, “the cone represents the probable track of the center of a tropical cyclone where the entire track can be expected to remain within the cone roughly 60-70 percent of the time.” Of course, the cone tends to get wider with forecast lead time. In other words, there’s more certainty with a forecast that is valid in 48 hours (smaller cone) versus one that is valid in 120 hours (larger cone).

Currently, the graphic only includes those watches and warnings along coastal regions. Starting in 2024, the NHC will be issuing an experimental tropical cyclone forecast cone graphic that also includes inland tropical storm and hurricane watches and warnings in effect for the contiguous U.S. Recommendations from social science research suggest that the addition of inland watches and warnings to the cone graphic will help communicate inland wind risk during tropical cyclone events while not overcomplicating the current version of the graphic with too many data layers.

Electrification of Hurricanes

It’s probably not a surprise to hear that a healthy squall line moving through the Midwest can generate lightning at a rate of more than one strike per second for an extended period of time. But what about in a tropical storm or hurricane? You might be astonished to learn that, on average, a hurricane rarely produces more than a single lightning strike every 10 minutes. While there are some hurricanes and tropical storms that are highly electrified (especially when making landfall), don’t let your guard down—many are not.

No GA pilot is going to fly through the center of a tropical storm or hurricane on purpose. There’s typically plenty of advance warning from the NHC on the location and track of these powerful weather systems. However, once the tropical system makes landfall and weakens, how safe is it to fly through some of the precipitation remnants of the storm? A dissipating tropical system over land can contain some nasty convective turbulence and even small EF0 and EF1 tornadoes. Consequently, it is not unusual for the Storm Prediction Center (SPC) to issue a tornado watch for most tropical systems making landfall.

• READ MORE: Flying Through the Center of a Trough Should Have Been Uneventful

The precipitation signature as depicted on a ground-based radar mosaic associated with tropical cyclone remnants may not look too threatening to the average pilot.

First, it is often void of lightning, unlike what you might see with other convective outbreaks. Also, the automated surface observations in the area may only include +RA for heavy rainfall. In other words, you may not see +TSRA implying lightning exists as well as rain. Second, the ground-based radar mosaic may not have much of a true cellular structure with high reflectivity gradients that we often see with other deep, moist convection.

Despite the lack of lightning and a relatively benign-looking radar image, tropical system remnants should be treated as if they were that intense squall line in the Midwest. After such a tropical system makes landfall and begins to rapidly dissipate into a tropical depression or extra-tropical cyclone, it will move inland carrying similar risks.

This is evidenced by the remnants of Hurricane Katrina in 2005. This was a powerful storm that made landfall as a strong Category 3 hurricane at the end of August near New Orleans and moved north into the Tennessee and Ohio valleys as it dissipated.

Even after the storm was declared as extra-tropical, tornado watches were issued just to the east of Katrina’s track along the central and southern Appalachian Mountains and into the Mid-Atlantic. It is important to understand that the lack of lightning does not imply the lack of dangerous convective turbulence.

In order for lightning to form within deep, moist convection, three ingredients must be present in the right location of the cloud. This includes ice crystals, supercooled liquid water, and a “soft hail” particle called graupel.

Updrafts in tropical systems are actually quite limited, usually no more than 1,500 feet per minute. These updrafts are far from upright, owing to the strong horizontal wind shear present. According to hurricane researcher Dr. Robert Black, “while there is some presence of electrical fields, the graupel-liquid water-ice combination turns out to be at the wrong place at the wrong temperature and in insufficient volume to give the spatial charge distribution to produce a lightning discharge.”

In layman’s terms, little supercooled liquid water gets carried high enough to the level necessary to electrify the cloud. This continues to be true even after the tropical system makes landfall and dissipates inland.

The most serious electrification occurs in the outer rain bands as they spiral outward from the center of the storm. These can often look a lot like that Midwest frontal convection. Most convective cells along that squall line in the Great Plains or Midwest often move in a northeasterly direction based on the shift of the air mass and the winds aloft.

However, this may not be the case for these tropical cyclone bands. You may find these cells moving in a northerly or even westerly motion depending on the track of the tropical system.

Remain Outside of the Northeast Quadrant

If you split the storm into four quadrants based on its forward movement, the most intense atmospheric shear occurs in the northeast quadrant. This is typically where you will find the highest storm surge at landfall and where tornado watches are usually issued. As the system makes landfall, moves inland, dissipates, and becomes extra-tropical, you will find the northeast quadrant should be strictly avoided.

As we make our way through hurricane season this year, keep a close eye on the tropics and heed the guidance from the NHC. Even weak storms making landfall can add significant hazards for most aircraft. The convection associated with these storms is not the normal kind we experience during the warm season. Therefore, you can’t assume that the same ground-based signatures you might steer away from with normal convection will be present with this tropical convection.

Last, but not least, don’t use the lack of lightning to be your guide to determine what precipitation is safe to fly through. Assume there is ample wind shear in the atmosphere regardless of how it appears on radar. It may prove not to be a fair match for your aircraft or skill set.

This feature first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Keeping an Eye on the Storm appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Decades later, Captain Rosenkranz returned to LA, where he commanded a specially chartered Airbus A330-900neo for his final flight at Delta. On board were 112 of his friends and family, including fellow pilots who didn’t get a proper retirement send-off due to the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020.

“Back when COVID hit, some of my friends…couldn’t get a final flight,” Rosenkranz told FLYING. “My one friend, all he could do was an Orlando [Florida] turn instead of a nice international trip. And I remember thinking, you know, I don’t want to do that. I want to fly where I want to fly.”

To set his plan in motion, Rosenkranz said he pulled some strings in Delta’s charter department. The Atlanta-based airline regularly charters aircraft for sports teams and other special events, but never for one of its own team members.

“I sat down with the charter director…I think it was around October 2022, and I told him my idea, and he says I’ve never done this before,” Rosenkranz said. “I said, ‘Well, I’ll be the first.’”

Although Rosenkranz wasn’t turning 65 until June, a weekday in late February—often a lull for airline demand—proved more ideal for taking a widebody jet out of commercial service. Having become an Airbus A330 captain three years ago, he asked the airline for an A330-900neo, which is the latest-generation variant of the jet.

Not only did he receive his requested aircraft type, but Rosenkranz also asked for the special “Team USA” livery on N411DX, which Delta also obliged.

The Special Trip

Rosenkranz and his hand-picked passengers jetted off for Kona International Airport (PHKO) in Hawaii on February 27 for a daylong, overnight trip. The chartered A330 flew from Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport (KDFW) to LAX, where it made a roughly one-hour stop.

Then, the aircraft departed Los Angeles for Kona, arriving at approximately 2:30 p.m. HST. On February 28, the A330neo completed the same routing on the return, arriving back in Dallas-Fort Worth at 10:10 p.m. CST.

• READ MORE: A New Mission to Break Down Barriers

Joining Rosenkranz in the flight deck were longtime friends, one of whom he knew from a high school job at Safeway. The duo were once box boys together for the supermarket and now fly one of Delta’s largest aircraft.

“We had four pilots because you can’t fly a domestic leg and an ocean crossing in the same day,” Rosenkranz said. “So I had two of my friends fly the domestic portions from Dallas to LA, LA to Dallas.”

Rosenkranz said he flew both oceanic crossings to serve as his final two flights. Roughly 50 guests joined him in DFW, while the rest boarded in Los Angeles.

“We showed up in the terminal here at DFW, and about 50 friends and family were already there,” he said. “And it was very emotional for me just seeing everybody there clapping and giving me hugs. When we got to the gate there in LA, and my wife and I walked into the terminal in the gate area, another 60 friends and family were there. I started crying all over again.”

In Kona, Rosenkranz took care of his guests’ transportation to and from the airport, only asking them to pay for their one-night stays at a Hilton resort. The experience was made complete with a customary luau and a surprise renewal of wedding vows with his wife of nearly 42 years.

‘Fini’ Flights: Marking a Milestone

The tradition of the so-called “fini” flight dates back decades, finding its roots in the military. During their final flights, retiring pilots are met with fanfare. For the military side, this send-off can include an affectionate hose-down upon exiting the aircraft for a final time.

But in commercial aviation, retiring captains—who often wrap up their careers with decades of seniority under their belts—are met with grand gate parties and water cannon salutes by local firefighter crews. Some airlines allow captains to select their final flight and allow family members to join with free confirmed tickets.

Rosenkranz’s charter came with three different water cannon salutes, including in Kona, DFW, and most notably LA.

• READ MORE: Which U.S. Airlines Are Hiring Pilots?

The city of Los Angeles—which runs LAX—has long maintained a moratorium on water cannon salutes, citing local water shortages. By a stroke of luck, though, Delta was able to convince the city to make an exception for Rosenkranz’s special flight.

“So a week later, [a member of Delta’s charter team] calls back and said, ‘Well, the pilot’s name is this, and he grew up in Southern California. [He] and the other pilot were box boys at Safeway. His high school’s here,’” he said. “And whoever that person was said, ‘You know what? Let’s make it happen.’ So the FAA approved, the airport authority approved, and the fire department approved. I think I was the second one in nine years to get a [water cannon salute]. So, wow, just great.”

As the pandemic ravaged the airline industry, many retiring pilots lost out on the opportunity for a proper send-off flight. This was especially the case for widebody captains, who primarily flew long-haul flights, which were some of the first to be scuttled in 2020.

With his charter flight, Rosenkranz also sought to provide an additional opportunity for a proper sendoff to some of these pilots, all of whom he knew during his tenure at Delta.

A Decorated Career

Rosenkranz boasts a long and well-decorated aviation career, starting in the Air Force after graduating from an ROTC training course. In the military he flew the F-16.

Later, he would go on to write a book about his experiences flying during the Gulf War titled, Vipers in the Storm: Diary of a Gulf War Fighter Pilot.

“You know, I’m not Tom Clancy or Stephen King, so it certainly didn’t allow me to retire, but I’ve received thousands of letters from all over the world and kids in grade school, high school, and college will read the book and send me a note,” Rosenkranz said.

• READ MORE: Pro Track: Finding Your Way to an Airline Pilot Career

His airline career began in July 1991 when he started at Delta as a flight engineer on the Boeing 727. Throughout his time at the airline, he flew the 757/767, the Airbus A320, and most recently the A330 in the left seat.

“So, I would tell any new person…your love of aviation is going to carry you through anything, and then enjoy the job,” he said.

Rosenkranz said the No. 1 question about his retirement charter was the cost. Without going into too much detail, he said it was “probably a good year’s salary.”

“I mean, to be able to go out with your own jet and fly all your family and friends to Hawaii for a big luau, you just can’t put a price on it,” he said. “And you don’t want to be the richest man in the graveyard one day. So, I would do it again a hundred times and never look back. And so, I’ll be OK in life. And my wife and I will never forget this trip.”

This feature first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Delta Air Lines Captain Makes the Ultimate ‘Fini’ Flight appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The 1920s and ’30s saw Piaggio’s prestige grow. The company added top aeronautical engineers and expanded its capabilities worldwide. And, of course, the firm made significant contributions to Italy’s war effort.

Postwar Rebuilding

Following the devastation of Piaggio’s facilities during World War II, the manufacturer began its postwar rebuilding process by developing an aircraft that, in some ways, flew in the face of aircraft trends for the time. Until WWII, most airplanes, especially larger ones, sported tailwheels or, in some notable cases, were flying boats.

The war saw the development of a worldwide network of airports featuring long, paved runways. This addition to aviation technology spelled the end of water-based transports and the nearly universal shift to tricycle landing gear for practically all larger aircraft.

Piaggio’s first postwar entry was a relatively large, five-seat amphibian with a tailwheel. In addition, this twin-engine transport, designated the P.136, incorporated an unconventional feature in the form of pusher propellers.

To top things off, the P.136’s dihedral wing design gave it a graceful appearance that led to its appropriate nickname, “The Gull.”

Pushing Along

The first flight of the P.136 came on August 29, 1948. Initial deliveries were made to the Italian Air Force, which ultimately ordered 22 of the type, in the early 1950s. Altogether, 63 were built. Of these, 32 were imported and assembled in the United States by Kearney and Trecker and marketed under the brand name “Royal Gull.”

Around 75 engineering modifications were made to suit North American requirements when importing the P.136s. These included two additional models, the P136-L1 and P136-L2. The P136-L2 sported GTSIO-480 Lycoming engines rated at 340 hp.

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In 1957, Piaggio built its first P.166 as a direct development of the P.136. The new model was not amphibious and featured a tricycle landing gear, redesigned tail, and larger cabin designed to accommodate up to 10 passengers plus a crew of two. More than 150 P.166s were built, with many going to militaries around the world, while quite a few operated as personal transports and in service for feeder airliners.

Back to the P.136

One such U.S.-assembled machine, a 1954-built P.136-L1, serial number 194, is registered as N222A. It resides at New Richmond Regional Airport (KRNH) in Wisconsin and is owned by Barry Hammarback, currently vice president of Perceptive Avionics. Hammarback holds ATP multiengine land and sea, commercial helicopter, instrument helicopter, CFI, and advanced ground instructor ratings. He has more than 7,000 hours in multiple aircraft.

Hammarback is a life member of the Seaplane Pilots Association and the Commemorative Air Force, where he is a sponsor of the B-25 Miss Mitchell. He also belongs to the Experimental Aircraft Association’s Warbirds of America division, and the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association. He currently flies a Vietnam-era UH-1H “Huey” helicopter and a 1954 Piaggio Royal Gull amphibian.

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Hammarback’s Gull was the first P.136-L1 imported to the U.S. by Kearney and Trecker. It was used as the importer’s demonstrator and later became corporate transport for an insurance company. Eventually, it was sold to George Stevenson, a Boeing 747 captain for Northwest Airlines. N222A resided at KRNH, where Hammarback had his Mooney based.

“It had to be in the late ’80s or early ’90s, [and] I was driving past a hangar when I spotted this funny-looking airplane,” Hammarback said. “Of course, I got out of the car and immediately went up and tried to figure out what the heck it was. In the back of my mind, I remembered seeing a picture of it in an old airplane magazine…Turns out it was an NBAA [National Business Aviation Association] magazine from 1954 or ’55. Not only was it a Piaggio P.136, it was the Gull now sitting at KRNH and owned by George Stevenson. After that, I made a point of trying to track George down and find out a little bit more about it.”

Hammarback said Stevenson and his wife had rebuilt several airplanes over the years.

“When he and I met, he had already put in years of work on N222A, far above and beyond the initial modifications performed by Kearney and Trecker,” he said. “From the early 1980s, Stevenson was continually modifying the airplane, inside and out. Many of these mods did not have STCs, so he painstakingly completed FAA Form 337s, which cover major repairs or alterations to a specific aircraft, powerplant, propeller, or appliance. As examples of this, he changed the generators out for alternators, which required changing out many of the electrically driven items on the Gull. The FAA made him perform all the load tests before granting final approval.

“Stevenson also went through the arduous process of relocating the throttle quadrant to the upper ceiling of the cockpit, à la [the] Grumman Goose. The new engine panels required wiring and cables that went up through the center part of the windshield and then snaked back to the engine. Then, of course, he had to go back to the FAA again to get all these mods certified. He redid the whole instrument panel in the airplane. He was very meticulous and took his time.

“The joke was that it was the biggest homebuilt the Minneapolis General Aviation District Office (GADO) had ever dealt with.”

Once Stevenson got N222A completely rebuilt, he was ready to go fly again. Sadly, on one of his very first fights, he landed gear up at KRNH, causing a fair amount of damage to the hull.

“Had George raised up the Gull with a crane and then lowered the gear, he probably would not have done any further damage,” Hammarback said. “Unfortunately, he tried to raise the aircraft off the ground by lowering the landing gear. That action is what caused quite a bit of damage since the landing gear did not have the structural strength to handle that stress. So after some 10 years of rebuilding the Gull, Stevenson again ended up spending the next few years finding the parts to repair and rebuild the bird. During this process, his wife got very ill with cancer and eventually passed away. At that point, he seemed to lose interest in aviation.

“Finally, in 1996, George came to me and said, ‘Barry, you have got to buy my Gull.’ I thought, ‘I can’t do this,’ but George was extremely insistent. He said, ‘Yep, you’ve got to buy it.’ He offered a very fair price on it, but I really did not want to take it on by myself, so I got my brother Rex involved. At this point, the P.136-L1 had been sitting for another couple of years, so we went through the Gull, inch by inch, giving it an extensive annual. Once we got it airworthy again, we went down to Jack Brown’s Seaplane Base in Winter Haven, Florida, and earned our multiengine seaplane ratings. We flew it quite a bit getting familiar with it and flew it to Oshkosh in 1997. It attracted quite a crowd.

“The joke was, ‘How do you make a Gulfstream disappear? By pulling up next to it in the Gull!’”

Gone, But Not Forgotten

Hammarback reflected on why he eventually had to let go of the Gull—and then bring it home again.

“Personal circumstances forced us to sell the Gull in 1998,” he said. “Actually, I sold my share to my brother, who then sold it to the new owner, who was also based at KRNH and rented a hangar from me. Meanwhile, my wife, Pat, was unhappy with me selling the Gull, and hung a picture of it, sitting on the water on Lake of the Woods in northern Minnesota, in the bathroom as a constant reminder of how much she loved the airplane.

• READ MORE: What Is the Best Amphibious Aircraft?

“Fast-forward a couple of years, the Gull had not been flown, and one day I noticed that the propellers were removed. Then the owner started to run late on rent for a couple of months, which was really unlike him. I finally called him up and just asked him if he was having problems. He said, ‘Well, Barry, I was planning to fly this up to my place in Canada, but there’s nothing but rocks by my cabin so I’d have to build a special dock up there and it’s kind of an outpost cabin.’

“Then there was the issue of trying to get insurance on the airplane. He had about 300 hours of flying time, with not very much multiengine time and no tailwheel time. Insurance was impossible, and he finally asked if I would consider buying it back. Of course, the backstory to that is the one I told earlier—that my wife was so mad at me when I sold the Gull that she put a picture of the airplane on my bathroom wall, where I had to look at it every single morning, and she would remind me what an idiot I was for selling it.

“I finally said I would buy it back for whatever he paid my brother for it, less the cost of the AD on the props. So I bought it back from him in 2001 and have owned it ever since.”

It’s Ba-a–a-a-ck

Hammarback noted there have been numerous modifications to his Gull over the years.

“The engines are Lycomings which have been upgraded from 260 hp to 295 each,” he said. “They are geared GO-480s. We have replaced the original Hartzell propellers with MT propellers, which gave us reverse-thrust capability. We have completely upgraded the avionics and repainted the aircraft.”

And he and his wife have taken some amazing trips.

“We have flown it several times to Wapus Lake in northeast Saskatchewan [in Canada], about 40 nm southwest of Lynn Lake, Manitoba,” he said. “We also flew it all the way to St. Croix in the Virgin Islands. On one memorable leg from Turks and Caicos, we flew as an IFR flight of two, with John Mohr and his Gull, to Puerto Rico. Oh, yes, it was night and dark! I was taking comfort in being able to fly a multiengine amphibious aircraft over all that ocean until the moon came out and revealed waves as big as houses underneath us.

“A high point of the trip was landing in the bay on the northside of St. Croix, putting our wheels down and driving up on the ramp at Seaborne Aviation. They put a whole crew on washing down the Gull to get the salt off.”

Gull Stories

Naturally, Hammarback has plenty of Gull anecdotes. One of his favorites occurred in the Caribbean.

“We landed at San Juan International Airport [TJSJ in Puerto Rico] at about 10 at night after most airport services were closed,” he said. “Ground control wasn’t sure quite what to do with us, so they thought they would do us a favor and, instead of having Customs go over to the FBO, they said, ‘Why don’t you just pull up to one of the gates, come in and clear customs and security right there, and then go back out in the airplane and off you go?’ We thought, ‘Well, that’s awesome, because we don’t need fuel. We just need to get our passports, clear customs, and then go back to the Gull and depart.’ Easy peasy, right? But … we had pliers, knives, and tools, and all the things required to keep a 50-year-old airplane running. The lady who staffed security explained that she could not let us through. She said, ‘No, we have a zero tolerance for knives and things like that.’

“We were all pretty tired and cranky, so I was concerned that things would get out of hand. I told our crew, ‘Just let me do my lawyer thing here.’ I talked to her, and she was very reasonable, and I said, ‘OK, here’s all our stuff in the box. You know, if you can get somebody to take it over to the FBO, we’ll just load everybody up and taxi over there.’ Everyone agreed this was a terrific idea. As we climbed into the Gull, someone came running up to the airplane, handed us the box with all our stuff, and wished us a pleasant flight. It’s funny the things you don’t think of until confronted with them.”

Hammarback said the Gull is a very stable aircraft and easy to fly on instruments.

“It is also very well behaved on the water,” he said. “In fact, I earned my multiengine ATP in this Gull. According to the [POH], it boasts a maximum speed of 208 mph (335 kph) at 6,601 pounds (2,994 kilograms), as well as a typical cruise speed of 167 mph (268 kph) at 70 percent rated power at 2,800 meters (9,200 feet.). With flaps down, its stall speed is approximately 68 mph (110 kph). Using 50 percent power at 14,100 feet (4,300 meters), we have a range of 900 miles (1,450 km) with a service ceiling of 25,600 feet (7,800 meters)—11,800 feet (3,600 meters) on one engine. I usually cruise at 130 knots.”

A Flock of Gulls

According to www.faa.gov, there are eight P.136s on the U.S. register. Hammarback knows of four flyable Gulls as of today.

Hammarback can’t help but sing the praises of the Piaggio P.136.

“It is incredible to me what an enduring design and what a great aircraft it is,” he said. “It fills a mission that very few aircraft can, and its graceful lines draw attention wherever we go. We have had some wonderful adventures in the Gull, and we hope to have as many adventures ahead of us as we have so far.”

Spec Sheet: Piaggio P.136-L2

Crew: 2

Capacity: 3

Length: 35 ft., 5 in. (10.8 m)

Wingspan: 44 ft., 5 in. (13.53 m)

Height: 12 ft., 7 in. (3.83 m)

Wing Area: 270 sq. ft. (25.1 m2)

Aspect Ratio: 7.4

Airfoil: NACA 230 series

Empty Weight: 4,652 lbs. (2,110 kg)

Gross Weight: 6,601 lbs. (2,994 kg)

Fuel Capacity: 193 U.S. gal. (730 liters) in two hull tanks

Powerplant: 2 x Lycoming GSO-480 6-cylinder, air-cooled, horizontally opposed piston engines, 340 hp (250 kW) each

Propellers: 3-bladed Piaggio P.1033 or Hartzell HC-83X20-2AL constant-speed, fully-feathering

This feature first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Piaggio P.136: The Graceful Pusher appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

My dad and grandpa’s Cessna 172 Skyhawk XP, with its delightfully itchy sheepskin seats and the “Please step outside to smoke” sign on the dash, introduced me to aviation as a 7-year-old. I would practice ELT searches with my dad, organize Jeppesen charts, and try to read the instruments just like he would.

And being a kid in the ’80s, buzzing soccer games and friends’ houses only helped cement a love of aviation—and, as it turned out, adrenaline. I assumed that my dad’s skillful IFR landings and the rigor applied to his Civil Air Patrol work were the norm for pilots.

With grandpa’s passing, the C-172 went away. We didn’t have much extra money, so Saturday morning flights became a thing of the past. I grew up and eventually started a company and had some kids and raced some cars. I knew enough about being a pilot that I would not have the time to fly consistently and, therefore, I would not learn to fly well. As the company did better, I would dry lease or fly on fractionals to meetings and races. I wouldn’t think about the pilot we hired, the maintenance record of the airplane, or how young the pilot in command was. I was just excited to be in a small airplane again.

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The first lesson to pay attention came in the form of an early delivery Eclipse 500. I often dry leased a Malibu and hired a pilot (its owner). I enjoyed the steep approaches to Truckee, California (KTRK), and talking shop as I flew in the right seat with him. Each flight was an informal lesson. Soon, his Malibu went away, and a brand-new fast and high Eclipse 500 took its place. The idea of a very light jet (VLJ) was intoxicating. So much so that I never once questioned his ability to step up from the Malibu, nor did I question the sea of yellow “INOP” stickers that littered the panel of this dubiously certified little jet.

He and I were flying a short hop from McClellan Airfield (KMCC) in Sacramento, California, to the 3,300-foot strip at Gnoss Field (KDVO) in Marin County. Prior to takeoff, reports of fog made Gnoss a no-go, so we planned to fly an even shorter hop to Napa County (KAPC), which, it turns out, was also in the fog.

I sat in the right seat, and we talked about the new little jet’s systems. I admired the cockpit layout and the elegant sidestick jutting out from my right armrest. As we came in for the approach to Napa, there was thick fog for miles. I assumed it was a high layer and we’d punch right through just like dad used to. The pilot descended into the fog, and I did my job being a quiet passenger. In a slightly stressed tone, he asked if I could see the runway. Runway? We’re still way deep in the thick of the fog. And then there it was, still shrouded in fog, maybe 400 feet below and well to the right of us. I pointed it out as the numbers passed by us, and the airplane aggressively turned to line up with the still-shrouded runway. There was no way we were going to try to land, right?

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Thankfully, the pilot chose to go around. We went around on a steep climb to the right. And that’s when I heard the stern voice of the ATC—who I would soon find out was sitting in the tower…to our right—tell us that the go-around was to the left, and it’s critical to know and follow go-around procedures. We climbed back out of the clouds, he lined it back up, and we tried it again. Nope. Then again.

The third time, it went worse. The runway was nowhere in sight. The pilot muttered something about how we need to be careful as there are antennas nearby. We finally see the ground, which I think was somewhere between Runways 18L and 6. He went around again…to the right. The controller was now aggressively chastising him on the radio when I realized that we were still low and still turning and now in a banked descent somewhere near the tower and Runway 6. I looked up (yes, up) through the windshield and saw an access road and grass at a very odd angle to the panel. We weren’t level nor straight. And there is a tower somewhere to our left.

I knew enough about flying that this is a view that not many see from the windscreen of a jet a couple of hundred feet off the ground and can talk about later. My confidence that the pilot was in control was near zero. I knew that we needed to level the wings and pull back ASAP. I had the clarity of mind (thanks be to evolution for situations such as these) to know that grabbing that elegant little sidestick would probably kill us. Or then again, maybe it would save us.

The cliches of time slowing down and life flashing before my eyes proved to be true. My fingers opened inches from the stick, and I looked left to the pilot’s hands to see if he was going to level us first. I would give him exactly one second before I’d yell, “My plane!” I know, this is a supremely dumb idea. My brain was very much in “don’t-die” mode. Thankfully, he didn’t freeze up. He flew the airplane out of the situation that he got us into.

We climbed out as the controller gathered himself and offered a different type of IFR approach. I didn’t understand this exchange. What are we using? To this day I have no idea how he was navigating. Whatever was offered by the concerned controller was declined.

We rose above the clouds and were silent. Neither of us wanted to talk about what had just happened, so I asked him to go back to McClellan.

“Can’t. Not enough fuel,” the pilot responded.

I asked if we could declare an emergency and land at Travis Air Force Base (KSUU). That runway has to be a mile wide and 3 miles long.

“No,” he said.

What? Why would we depart Sacramento and into Napa’s fog with a thimble full of jet fuel?

We had to go back in for another try. I was not excited about this, so I just shut my mouth and did my best to spot the runway. Due to the stress of the situation, I have little recollection of that landing other than the controller talking him through it and, in a wise act of self-preservation, reminding him that the go-around procedure is to the left.

I learned about flying from that. Know your pilot. That was the last day I ever flew with or talked to him. And I never received an invoice.

The next lesson about flying regarded the airplane, not the pilot. The pilot was new to me, and lessons learned, I asked many questions about him and those who knew and recommended him. He was an instructor, A&P mechanic, military, commercial, with tens of thousands of hours over the decades. This was no hobby; this was his career. However, the airplane he was going to fly was a recent JetProp-converted Malibu. All the pilots talked about how fast and fun it was to fly. The giant exhaust sticking out of the cowling and expansive glass cockpit won me over.

He flew me from Truckee to Bakersfield, California (KBFL), so I could test a race car at the track in nearby Buttonwillow. The flight down was fast and comfortable for a solo passenger. When the day at the track was done, I made my way back to Bakersfield and climbed into the JetProp. The pilot did his walk-arounds, safety checks, and used checklists. I like this guy. We took off into the moonless black night over central California and left the lights of Bakersfield behind. I was tired, so I sat in the rear-facing seat and kicked my legs up. I was looking at the scattered lights of a few farmhouses far below. It was dark. It seemed too dark. I then noticed that there were no lights on the wingtip.

That’s odd.

I looked over my shoulder to the pilot and saw no lights on the panel either. He was digging through his duffle, so I used my phone to light the cockpit. He grabbed a flashlight and a hand-held radio and visually swept the panel. A lone old-school artificial horizon was installed to the far right of the new glass panel. It was in the worst possible position for a single pilot in the left seat, flying on a moonless night over dark farmland.

The pilot calmly radioed an emergency and climbed higher to give us the best possible chances if the engine stopped turning. Unfortunately, the radio was low on batteries, so he could only make a short call before it died. He would leave it off for a bit and then turn it back on for a short transmission.

He continued to fly the airplane, scan the instruments with his flashlight, and try to restart the electrical system to no avail. He kept calm despite some (actually, a lot of) sweat. The emergency gear extension knob was used, and two clunks were heard—but not three. He turned the radio back on and requested a flyby to see if the nose gear was actually down. As he approached the tower, the emergency lights on the runway lit up the night as fire trucks and ambulances staged themselves along the taxiways.

The tower controllers apparently didn’t know where we were, and we flew right by in the dark and didn’t get a gear-down affirmation signal. I assumed radar would tell them where we were, but it didn’t seem like they were able to see us. The pilot kept scanning the panel, flying the airplane, and checking altitude to ensure that we were still within glide distance of the airport. As he flew the pattern it was eerily dark, so I stared at my phone and contemplated texting my wife.

He flew a perfect approach. As we descended over the sea of emergency lights, he held the airplane a few feet off the runway and landed long in order to bleed speed then gently set down on the mains. He then held the nosewheel up until he could gently set it down. Like butter. The gear held. I clearly had the right pilot for the situation. We taxied off the runway, and he shut down the engine on the taxiway—and it got very dark around us once again.

The downside to landing long is that no one saw us. The controllers would later share that they assumed we were down out in the dark desert. The runway was so long and wide, this tiny unlit airplane was easy to miss as it landed long right down the center while they were scanning the skies.

Someone radioed to the emergency crews that they thought they saw someone. All the emergency trucks started racing down the taxiways. The pilot yelled for the first time. “Get out of the airplane! They don’t see us!”

After all this, we were about to be run over by one or more well-meaning, 70,000-pound fire trucks. We ran from the airplane into the grass as their lights finally spotted our darkened plane, and they slammed on their brakes.

I rented a Nissan Sentra and drove the six hours home.

I had vetted the pilot but did not vet the airplane beyond admiring the panel and that sexy exhaust. A short had killed its generator, inverter, and battery. I should not have chosen to fly on a recently converted airplane until hundreds of flight hours had passed.

Passengers should educate themselves to vet both plane and pilot. The admiration and trust we have for both is well earned but should not be universally applied.

This column first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Everyone Should Pay Close Attention in the Cockpit appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The town is known as a hub of colonial American history in general and for its connections to founding father Thomas Jefferson in particular and has been a popular destination since long before the first powered flight.

Today, though, it is also among the most inviting places for general aviation pilots , thanks in part to Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport (KCHO), a towered field with a spacious terminal, scheduled airline and charter flights , and a range of services for private pilots.

Getting There

Flying into airports near the special flight rules area (SFRA), the roughly 30 nm radius encircling Reagan Washington National Airport (KDCA) and Washington, D.C., requires special consideration. Unless my destination is inside that restricted area, I simply avoid it. Charlottesville is outside the SFRA to the southwest but close enough for potential discomfort.

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The direct route from my home airport at Sussex, New Jersey (KFWN), grazes the SFRA and takes me through the Class B airspace of Dulles International Airport (KIAD). Rather than pick my way along the restricted perimeter and under the Class B shelf, I added Winchester Regional (KOKV) as a waypoint that would keep me clear of those sensitive areas. While I am fond of F-16s, I worry incessantly about the prospect of being intercepted by one.

The Airport

Long before today’s KCHO opened, Charlottesville was a magnet for some of the earliest aviators. In 1912, Beckwith Havens, a young demonstration pilot who worked for the Curtiss Aeroplane Company, made two 12-minute flights in a Curtiss Pusher from the University of Virginia’s Lambeth Field during the college’s Easter celebration. According to historical records, spectators paid 50 cents for admission to the field. Havens went to work for Glenn Curtiss in 1910 as a salesman, but Curtiss soon taught him to fly.

An airport called Wood Field that included a flying school opened in town in 1929 but closed within a few years as the Great Depression took hold. In 1951 town officials decided to begin the project that would become Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport.

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Unlike several midsize airports we have visited, KCHO lacks a direct connection with aviation’s golden age. The field did not get its start during the 1920s as a grass strip where airmail pilots landed to refuel or for emergency assistance, nor did it host Ford Trimotors and Douglas DC-3s in the 1930s as scheduled airline operations began to expand. While many of today’s airports opened at or near the beginning of World War II as training centers for military pilots, Charlottesville was built after the war, opening in 1954. Still, KCHO’s development provides an informative reflection of how airline travel evolved.

Although the Jet Age had begun by the time of the airport’s completion, and the program handed out during its official opening ceremony included the stylized image of a swept-wing jet on its cover, the airport—and its relatively short runway—were designed around the piston-engine airliners that defined the period.

The airport began operations the same year British aviation authorities grounded the fleet of new de Havilland Comet jet airliners following three fatal accidents involving in-flight breakups. The Comet prototype first flew in 1949, and the production version entered service with British Overseas Airways Corp. in 1952.

The aircraft was a watershed design whose turbine power and pressurized cabin allowed it to fly at higher altitudes than were typical for piston airliners and cruise at speeds previously unheard of for passenger airliners. It promised to solidify Britain’s position as leaders in aviation technology. The accidents, however, slowed the acceptance of jet propulsion for commercial aircraft. At most airports, including KCHO, propeller-driven aircraft such as Douglas DC-3s and DC-6s, prewar and wartime designs respectively, carried out the airline flights.

Jets did not arrive at Charlottesville until 1969, when Piedmont Airlines began operating Boeing 727s there, around the same time the runway was extended to 6,000 feet. In the 1980s, the airport added another 800 feet to the runway to support the many regional jets that operate from KCHO. Today, the airport serves more than 500,000 passengers annually.

Things to Do

There is a lot going on in Charlottesville, with numerous historical sites, tours, galleries, shops, and restaurants vying for your attention. The list of possibilities might prove too long for a single visit, so it is best to plan carefully and focus on the attractions that interest you most.

Here are a few suggestions to get you started:

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Monticello

Most people would say you cannot visit without spending time at Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s hilltop home. The house and grounds offer a window into the mind and personality of the country’s third president, lead writer of the Declaration of Independence, and founder of the University of Virginia. Jefferson designed the house and the property’s many outbuildings, and the home’s interior details and grounds say much about his tastes and lifestyle. A number of tours are available at Monticello and worthwhile for anyone seeking a better understanding of the nation’s beginnings.

Highland

While you are visiting Monticello, you should take advantage of the adjacent location of Highland, former home to fifth president, James Monroe. Visitors will spot several contrasts and similarities in the two homes, but for many people, Highland will seem like a more realistic place to live.

During tours of the house you can learn more about the wide range of people who visited during Monroe’s decades-long political career and become more familiar with their individual stories. You can also come away with a clearer sense of history through Monroe’s point of view.

University of Virginia

When Jefferson founded the public university in 1819, it was uncharted academic territory. The idea of a public institution for the advancement of knowledge seemed to many like a reach.

Today, UVA is a well-established, must-see in Charlottesville. I recommend a tour, so you will not miss attractions such as author Edgar Allan Poe’s dormitory room from the short time he was a student at UVA. A group called the Raven Society keeps the room as it would have looked during Poe’s time. You can also see Lambeth Field, where Havens performed air shows more than 100 years ago.

Jefferson had an architectural affection for domed buildings—including Monticello—and the Rotunda on the UVA campus is one that is open to visitors and worth a visit. Jefferson also designed the serpentine brick walls that can be seen lining gardens on campus, many of which are open to visitors.

The Memorial to Enslaved Laborers is a more recent addition to campus that serves as a tribute to the people who built the university.

The Mall

The Charlottesville Mall is not a “big box” indoor shopping center but a picturesque downtown pedestrian corridor lined with more than 120 shops and 30 restaurants. Highlights include clothing stores, independent bookstores, consignment shops and more.

Numerous outdoor cafes give the mall the feel of a European village square. Visiting at night, when the mall’s unique overhead lights are on, adds to the unique atmosphere.

Charlottesville-Albermarle Airport (KCHO)

Location: Charlottesville, Virginia
Airport elevation: 640 feet msl
Airspace: Class D
Airport hours: Continuous. Tower operates 0600-2300
Runways: 03/21
Lighted: Pilot-controlled PAPI
Pattern altitude: 1,640 msl

This column first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Thomas Jefferson Certainly Left His Mark on Charlottesville appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

It was about 1 o’clock in the morning. The air on the surface was warm and humid. If he checked the weather—there was no evidence that he did—he would have expected to find widespread but patchy cloudiness over the route of flight and at the destination. In some places clouds were broken or scattered with tops at 3,000. Elsewhere buildups climbed into the flight levels. Ceilings and visibilities under the clouds were good, at worst 700 feet and 5 miles. The temperature and the dew point were only 3 degrees apart, however, and there was a slightly increased risk of fog formation owing to, of all things, particulate pollution from dust blown in from the Sahara.

During the short flight, he climbed to 3,600 feet, probably to get above some cloud tops. It was pitch-dark as the crescent moon was far below the horizon. As he neared his destination he descended to 1,500 msl, 1,300 feet above the terrain, and reduced his groundspeed from 175 knots to 100 knots.

The airstrip at which he intended to land was 3,500 feet long, 40 feet wide, and had a light gray concrete surface oriented 4/22. Other than a hangar on an apron at midfield, there were no structures on the airport and no edge lights along the runway.

The only lights were red ones marking the runway ends. The surrounding area was largely dark. Sam Rayburn Reservoir sat close by to the north and east, a vast region of uninterrupted black. Parallel to the runway, about half a mile north, was State Highway 147, lighted only by the headlamps of infrequently passing cars.

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For almost an hour, the pilot flew back and forth over the airstrip, tracing a tangled path of seemingly random right and left turns. His altitude varied between 350 and 1,100 feet agl and his groundspeed between 65 and 143 knots. His ground track, as recorded by ATC radar, suggested no systematic plan, but it was broadly centered on the northeast end of the runway.

The last return from the Saratoga, recorded 54 minutes after it arrived over the field, put it 9,700 feet from the northeast end of the runway on a close-in extended left downwind leg for Runway 22 at a height of 350 feet agl and a groundspeed of 94 knots. The Saratoga was below radar for the remainder of the flight.

Its burned wreckage was found at the southern edge of the clear-cut area surrounding the runway, several hundred feet short of the threshold. A trail of parts led back across the clear-cut to its north side, where the airplane had clipped a treetop at the edge of the woods. From the orientation of the wreckage path, it appeared that the Saratoga may have overshot the centerline on base and was correcting back toward the approach end lights when it struck the tree.

In the course of the accident investigation, it emerged that the airplane was out of annual, its last inspection having occurred in 2017, the registration had expired, and the pilot’s medical was out of date. The pilot had 400 hours (estimated) but did not have an instrument rating and, in fact, had only a student certificate. The autopsy turned up residues of amphetamine, methamphetamine, and THC (the psychoactive component of cannabis), but investigators did not rule out the possibility that the drugs could have had a therapeutic purpose.

• READ MORE: Three-Mile Limit: Novice Pilots Succumb to the Perils of Total Darkness

The National Transportation Safety Board’s report on the accident declines to speculate on whether the drugs impaired the pilot in any way. In fact, the NTSB report concedes that “the pilot’s aircraft handling was not deficient relative to his limited experience of flying in night instrument conditions and the prolonged period of approach attempts.” The finding of probable cause cited only the pilot’s “poor decision-making as he attempted to land at an unlit airstrip in night instrument conditions.”

The pilot bought the Saratoga in 2016 and then took flying lessons, but he stopped short of getting the private certificate. His instructor said he had never given him any instrument training. The pilot’s wife said that he “normally” flew to the airport at night and circled down until he could see the runway.

The airport was in Class G airspace. What the cloud conditions were we don’t know—the nearest automated reporting station was 24 nm away—and so we don’t know whether the Saratoga was ever in clouds and, if so, for how long. Maneuvering around at low level for nearly an hour in darkness and intermittent IMC would be taxing even for many instrument-rated pilots, and so it seems likely that if the pilot was in clouds at all, it was only for brief periods.

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Two things strike me about this accident. First, how close it came to not happening: If the pilot hadn’t clipped the tree, he might have made the turn to the runway successfully and landed without incident, as he apparently had done in the past. Second, that he had ever managed the trick at all. I can only suppose that the contrast between the runway clear-cut and the surrounding forest was discernible when there was moonlight and that he was able to use GPS and the runway’s end lights to get himself to a position where his landing light would illuminate the runway.

Rugged individualism being, supposedly, an American virtue, I leave it to you to applaud or deplore the nonconformist aspects of this pilot’s actions. Perhaps a certain amount of freelancing is inevitable in an activity like flying. But I deprecate his persistence. One of the essential arrows in every pilot’s quiver should be knowing when to quit. He set himself a nearly impossible goal, and after flying half an hour to his destination, he spent an hour trying to figure out how to get onto the ground.

If it was that difficult, it wasn’t worth doing. There were other airports—with runway lights—nearby.

At the time of the crash, the pilot was awaiting the decision of a Houston court in a wrongful  termination lawsuit that he had filed against a former employer. Five months later, the court found in his favor to the tune of $143 million. Thanks to a terminal case of “get-homeitis,” however, he wasn’t there to enjoy it.

Note: This article is based on the National Transportation Safety Board’s report of the accident and is intended to bring the issues raised to our readers’ attention. It is not intended to judge or reach any definitive conclusions about the ability or capacity of any person, living or dead, or any aircraft or accessory.

This column first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post A Cautionary Tale About Pilot Freelancing appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

A) Multiple IAF Points

IAF points are denoted at CLBRT, WCKHM, HOODE, JASAI, or even the WITTO waypoint for this approach. The approach is set up so that a pilot can transition onto this approach from virtually any direction. From any of these points, you can transition to WITTO waypoint and inbound on the approach. All of them indicate that NoPT (No Procedure Turn) is required except the WITTO waypoint. Joining here would require a hold entry be conducted at or above the minimum published hold altitude at WITTO.

B) Terrain to the West

A variety of denoted elevation features are included on the chart as a reminder that there is higher terrain out to the west. Some of this terrain is higher than approach path altitudes, so don’t stray off course.

• READ MORE: Chart Wise: Ocean City (KOXB) LOC Rwy 32

C) Descents Through Waypoints

Pilots transitioning through the CLBRT, WCKHM, HOODE, or JASAI waypoints will be at altitudes of 5,100 feet msl or 4,300 feet msl. After WITTO, there is a stepdown that will have a pilot descend to 3,400 feet. After ECEUS they can go down to 2,400 feet, and after the FAF at MUSOJ farther descent is possible to minimum descent altitude (MDA). This continued stepdown requires a pilot to plan and manage their configuration and power settings to stay above minimums while then reestablishing descents to the next lowest altitude. Don’t descend too early, but don’t get behind the airplane either.

D) Turns Along the Final Approach Path

From the WITTO waypoint, a pilot would fly a track of 209 degrees through ECEUS and to the MUSOJ waypoints, but here a turn is required. From MUSOJ, a track of 196 degrees is required through WUBAK and to the ORMEY final waypoint, where a pilot would go missed if they did not have the runway environment in sight. Don’t miss the turns to follow the course on this approach.

E) Offset Final Approach Course

A note on the chart indicates that the final approach course is offset 14.51 degrees. A pilot might surmise this is going to be the case when the final approach inbound course is 196 degrees for a Runway 21, but this is a good thing to highlight. Be ready for the last leg of your approach to not align exactly with the runway.

• READ MORE: Chart Wise: Spirit of St. Louis ILS 26L

F) LP or LNAV…No Glideslope

While many GPS approaches have LPV minimums given, where a pilot can expect a glideslope that is WAAS based, that is not the case here. While greater lateral WAAS minimums are available, as denoted by the availability of LP minimums, a glideslope should not be expected. If your GPS system offers one, it will be only a suggested glideslope and would not lead a pilot to a “decision altitude.” This approach includes only MDA minimums.

• READ MORE: Chart Wise: New Orleans VOR DME 36L (KNEW)

G) Missed Approach Is to a VOR

While this is an RNAV GPS-based approach, if a pilot has to go missed, they will actually be transitioning to a VOR for their hold unless otherwise vectored. The GVE VOR has a depicted hold of 033 degrees inbound. The good news is that you aren’t required to do the hold using the VOR; you can still use your GPS to fly this hold. It is noted as a 4 nm hold, not a traditional timed holding procedure.

This column first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Chart Wise: Charlottesville RNAV (GPS)-Y Rwy 21 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

As Butch asked Sundance in the 1969 movie, “Who are those guys?” To which I add: Why the Phenom 300E? And, what makes that jet so popular?

I’ll answer the second question first. It’s a combination of being the fastest single-pilot jet in the sky, the fastest light jet with the highest payload and the ability to use runways less than 4,000-feet long and climb directly to FL 450. It offers stunningly attractive and comfortable interiors as well as solid human factors engineering (HFE) that keeps the workload for a single pilot manageable in challenging conditions.

For the first question, those men and women are Embraer, a Brazilian manufacturer that for more than 50 years has been designing and building turboprops and jets for the airlines, general aviation, and military. We’ve heard it said that Embraer is channeling the disruptive aeronautical design philosophies of countryman Alberto Santos-Dumont, whose aviation firsts from 1901 through 1909 made him a household name throughout much of the world.

After visiting Embraer’s Melbourne, Florida, campus—built as the U.S. space program there was slowing down to take advantage of a highly trained workforce—with its 192,000-square-foot production facility, engineering and technology center, two paint facilities, delivery center with design studio, and flying the Phenom 300E—I came away with the feeling that the manufacturer is on the cutting edge of bizjet design, performance, and customer service (75 centers worldwide).

• READ MORE: We Fly: Cirrus SR G7

I’ll be the first to admit that the definition of light jet is a bit amorphous, although, in general, it can carry six to eight passengers on flights of two to three hours and access relatively small airports.

The Phenom 300E can be configured for as many as 10 passengers on board. A 25-degree wing sweep helps generate a maximum speed of Mach 0.8 and a high-speed cruise of 464 knots, yet its sophisticated flaps mean it can operate from 4,000-foot-long runways at sea level, needing 3,209 feet for takeoff at its 18,551-pound maximum gross weight. Fully fueled, its NBAA range is 2,010 nm, which includes the ability to divert to an alternate airport 100 nm away. With eight occupants, its NBAA range is 1,178 nm. Max operating altitude is FL 450 (45,000 feet), and the 300E can climb directly there in 22 minutes.

The Basics

The Phenom 300 debuted in 2009. In 2013 it received an avionics upgrade to the Garmin G3000 Prodigy Touch Flight Deck. A major interior redesign came in 2017. A power bump in 2020 gave it its current impressive cruise speed. That’s when it became known as the 300E—the “E” standing for Enhanced. Power is supplied by a pair of FADEC-controlled Pratt & Whitney PW525E1 engines putting out 3,478 pounds of thrust each. TBO is 5,000 hours.

Recent Developments

Enhancements keep coming for the 300E.

• Autothrottles: They tie in with the autopilot for normal operations as well as overspeed and underspeed protection. Servos move the power levers, giving the pilot a tactile indication of the power setting in addition to the display on the gauges.

• Emergency Descent Mode (EDM): With the autopilot engaged, should the cabin pressure climb above 25,000 feet, the system turns the jet 90 degrees left and commands a descent to 15,000 feet while setting the transponder to 7700. For those aircraft equipped with autothrottles, power is reduced for the descent and increased then the aircraft reaches 15,000 feet.

• Runway Overrun Awareness and Alerting System (ROAAS): It engages at 1,000 feet agl and monitors altitude and speed for the runway in use and the runway conditions. Between 500 and 100 feet agl, if approach parameters are exceeded—generally too high and/or too fast—the system cautions that unless the pilot gets the jet back into appropriate approach parameters, it won’t be able to stop on the runway—“Caution, overrun.” If things are not corrected by 100 feet agl, an aural warning, “Overrun, go around,” sounds. If the airplane floats on landing, the system will give another caution, “Long flare.” ROAAS keeps working through rollout. If the jet isn’t decelerating appropriately, it issues another warning, “Overrun, brakes.”

• GWX75 radar: It has been upgraded with automatic vertical scanning and predictive hail capabilities, which predicts hail and presents it visually on the weather display.

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The airplane flown had a basic empty weight (BEW) of 11,739 pounds. With full fuel—5,353 pounds—the payload was 1,459 pounds, or six 200-pound passengers and a lot of baggage. What is usually more important is how flexible the aircraft is when it comes to fuel versus cabin load. The zero-fuel weight for the 300E is 14,263 pounds, so when loading the airplane, anything over that weight has to be fuel. That means in the airplane we flew up to 2,524 pounds could go into the cabin—a whopping load. Bringing the airplane up to gross weight with 4,288 pounds of fuel still means the jet can fly well over 1,300 nm with reserves and go fast doing it.

With Embraer demo pilots Marisha Mohler and James Crawford, some sample weight-and-balance problems using the Prodigy Touch were run. Bottom line: It was nearly impossible to load the 300E out of CG, something of major importance because it minimizes the risk that a loading error will create an uncontrollable flying machine.

The Walk-Around 

Walking around the jet, I was impressed by the size of the left-side-accessed, heated-aft baggage compartment—84 cubic feet—with room for skis and golf clubs.

I was advised that the Phenom 300 was originally designed for high usage in the fractional and charter world—with a life of 35,000 hours or 28,000 cycles—so Embraer borrowed from its experience in the constant operation airline world for longevity and robustness. I noticed such features as all exterior panels, including the windshield, use a single screw head design. If necessary, the windshield can be replaced in four hours. The lavatory is serviced externally. Single-point fueling is available, and the large airstair door is beefed up to withstand long-term use but is designed for one-handed operation.

For speed, the skins are flush-riveted, the area rule of the rear fuselage is particularly notable inboard of the engines, and there are gap seals between all control surfaces. The auxiliary power unit (APU) plug is angled, so it will pull out, rather than rip out, should a pilot taxi away with it connected. The right engine can be run in a ground power mode, functioning as an APU.

Systems are conventional, but almost all are set and forget, with automation taking care of routine tasks and abnormalities and using the large screen presentation of the Prodigy Touch to display irregularities so that the crew can determine what actions, if any, are necessary. I saw numerous examples of HFE designed to reduce pilot workload and maximize situational awareness. One example is the spoilers. When deployed in-flight, they stow automatically when certain conditions are met. They deploy automatically on landing.

• READ MORE: We Fly: Cessna TTx

Braking is via a brake-by-wire system with an electronic, rather than mechanical, anti-skid system in the same box that turns pilot brake input into electrical impulses to the brake hydraulics. The brakes are carbon, maximizing effectiveness as they heat up. Wing, tail, and engine inlet deicing is via bleed air. The windshields are electrically heated.

The electrical system is a 28-volt, eight-bus system powered by two 390-amp generators.

The Cabin

When talking about a purchase price on the order of $13 million, the reality is that an owner-flown, fractional, or charter jet exists to carry people of means who want to get to a destination fast and in comfort. I think that is true especially for the owner-flown jet family. After all, there’s a hoary aviation axiom: If the nonflying spouse ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy, and the jet better have a comfortable potty.

After spending time in the cabin, I think Embraer nailed it. First, the cabin never gets too high—the 9.4 max pressure differential means that at the FL 450 maximum operating altitude, the cabin is at 6,600 feet. The cabin shape is a modified vertical oval, allowing the seats to be mounted low to maximize headroom. Standing 6-foot-4, I’ve been uncomfortably crowded in a lot of aircraft cabins—that was not the case here. The comfy seats recline, swivel, and track horizontally away from the bulkheads.

Everything on the ceiling is flush, including the air vents. Finally, there’s a design that gets rid of the ball-shaped head-knockers we’re used to. What is called a tech panel is on the ceiling, containing motion sensors. Moving a hand near the veneer lights up buttons to control the various entertainment systems, video displays, and cabin lighting.

The lavatory is the real thing—complete with a sink—and with solid, sliding doors for privacy. It has a window that is the same size as those in the rest of the cabin, so there’s no feeling of retreating into a black hole, especially as the lav seat can be belted and used as a passenger seat.

My takeaway from our time in the cabin and Embrarer’s Melbourne design center is that there is serious commitment to not only comfort but an elevated level of style and panache. But, then again, that’s what we expect from the country that gave us the elegance of the samba.

The Front Office

Moving forward to where the magic happens, the first thing that I observe is the sheer size of the Garmin G3000 Prodigy Touch displays and the well laid-out nature of the panel. Once seated, I found the seats to be among the easiest to adjust and the most comfortable I’ve experienced on any bizjet.

While I may have to turn in our jaded journalist accreditation, I kept running into things that were at the high end of our experience. I’ve used rudder pedals that adjust fore and aft, but never as easily as these. At my height, I’m used to being uncomfortable on a flight deck—it wasn’t the case in the 300E. To my amazement, when Captain Mohler—who is well over a foot shorter than I—got into the right seat, the seat and rudder pedals adjusted to fit her physique easily. I’m not used to that range of adjustment in flight deck seating.

I then looked at an issue I feel critical to design—crashworthiness for those at the point of the arrow. The most common bizjet accident is a runway overrun or loss-of-control event that involves impact at under stall speed, where good crashworthy design means keeping the crew alive. I generally liked what I saw. The restraint system is five-point, and there is flail space in front of the crew and no head-gouging overhead switches.

The more I learned about the flight deck and systems, the more I realized the significant thought that went into setting up the 300E for single-pilot operation and felt that it is a most reasonable step up for pilots flying single-pilot turboprops and smaller jets.

The Garmin G3000 Prodigy Touch Flight Deck avionics blend well with the aircraft, presenting what the pilot needs to know, when needed, and the shallow menu allows accessing information required with a minimum of screen inputs. Garmin’s intuitive design is well known, so I won’t go into detail here. Its incorporation in the 300E came across as nearly seamless.

While Prodigy Touch requires intense, focused training, I think that its design is pilot-friendly and intuitive. Once it is understood, a pilot can program the automation easily—thus freeing them to do the important stuff, such as think and maintain situational awareness. That’s especially important when dealing with weather or high-density airport arrivals in a single-pilot jet that goes as high and fast as this one.

Flying It

Starting a Phenom 300E is so easy that I can’t help but wonder whether it’s illegal in some states. You turn the appropriate rotary switch at the base of the power quadrant from “stop,” past “run” to “start.” Wait two, count ’em, two, seconds and then turn the switch back to run. FADEC takes care of monitoring engine rpm, applying fuel and ignition at the appropriate time and monitoring temps as the engine spools up—stopping the start automatically should something be amiss.

Yes, you monitor and are prepared to move the switch to stop, but there’s little to do. Taxiing is via the rudder pedals and carbon brakes. Once running, the jet will roll away from the chocks at idle power, meaning that braking is needed.

Takeoff preparation is easy—the checklist is short and consists generally of setting flaps, confirming that the departure procedure and initial altitude are loaded in the Garmin. I liked that there is nothing extra to do—or forget—after takeoff clearance is received. There’s a takeoff configuration button to push that checks the critical stuff and confirms that the jet is configured for takeoff. Switchology at that point is that every switch should be in the 12 o’clock position and all lights off. “12:00 and dark,” is the call. It’s simple, straightforward, and crew-friendly.

Loaded about 2,000 pounds below gross for this launch, V₁ was 105 knots, with V_R at 106. Acceleration was as to be expected for a bizjet, exhilarating and addictive.

Rotation immediately generated a positive rate of climb, once the gear was up and flaps retracted, we watched the rate of climb slide into the 3,000 fpm range as we accelerated.

We alternated hand-flying and having the automation handle things as we were slowly cleared to a 16,000-18,000-foot block altitude east of Melbourne. There, we hand-flew the 300E through steep turns and found that the jet is just plain fun to fly. The controls are heavy but responsive and the aircraft stays where you put it. Stick-force-per-G is linear and gets heavy quickly, so it’s unlikely someone will inadvertently load up the airframe when maneuvering.

With the autopilot back on, we pushed the power levers from max cruise to the climb mark and reached FL 450 so quickly that we were still negotiating with ATC for a route where we could have 10 minutes of level flight for a speed check. Once at altitude, we left the power in the climb setting and accelerated to Mach 0.8 , where at ISA minus-7 degrees Celsius we were burning at a total of 910 pph.

Pulling the power back to max cruise, the speed slowly backed off from Mach 0.8 to about 0.78 before it was time to start a descent. Heading down, we explored an emergency descent with power at idle (no effect on pressurization) and spoilers deployed and saw 10,000 fpm on the gauges.

I was impressed by the ease of programming the Prodigy Touch system as Captain Mohler did so while we were being vectored through busy Florida airspace and set up for the RNAV approach into Runway 9R at Melbourne. What would otherwise have been a workload-intensive event was something, in my opinion, easily handled by a single pilot comfortable with the automation and maintaining situational awareness.

Once established on glideslope, Captain Mohler suggested trying the coupled go-around feature. Pushing one of the TOGA (takeoff-go-around) buttons on the power levers caused the flight director to command an appropriate pitch up with the autopilot following the command. With autothrottles installed, the power would have come up simultaneously.

We then disabled the autopilot and rejoined the glideslope to set up a demonstration of ROAAS.

I’ve seen far too many bizjet runway overshoot accidents—and they almost invariably arise from being high and/or fast on final with a pilot determined to complete the landing and certain they can pull things together, only to discover the laws of physics can’t be broken. I think ROAAS will go a long way in reducing one of the remaining bugaboos of bizjet operations.

After sampling the automatic go-around and ROAAS features, landing the jet in gusty conditions proved to be a nonevent. I found it easy to maintain VREF. Captain Mohler called for pulling the power levers to idle at 50 feet and making a minimal flare. We managed to develop a sink rate at the last moment and touched down embarrassingly firmly. However, in performing its design duties, the trailing beam landing gear soaked things up and made us look good.

In the gusting crosswind we appreciated the automatic spoiler deployment. I could pay full attention to keeping the airplane tracking where we wanted with the main gear firmly on the ground. Applying gentle pressure initially to the brake pedals provided feedback that all was well, so I applied significant pressure as we wanted to make a nearby taxiway. I never felt the anti-skid cycle, but the jet slowed as if someone had tossed out an anchor.

In Conclusion

I came away from our time with the Phenom 300E impressed in many ways.

I like the robustness of the airframe. I appreciated the thought that went into a design focused on the needs of pilots so that either as a crew or single pilot, they can concentrate their time and energy on what is important, situational awareness, and handle whatever weather, ATC, or equipment failures throw at them without descending into the high-stress, tunnel-vision world where mistakes are made.

Spec Sheet: Embraer Phenom 300E

Price (as tested, estimated): $13 million

High Cruise Speed: 464 ktas

Max Mach Number: 0.80 MMO

NBAA IFR range (5 passengers): 2,010 nm

Takeoff Distance, 1,000 nm/NBAA IFR: 3,209 ft. at max gross weight

Landing Distance, Unfactored/NBAA IFR: 2,212 ft.

Max Operating Altitude: 45,000 ft.

Length: 51 ft., 4 in.

Wingspan: 52 ft., 2 in.

Height: 16 ft., 9 in.

Cabin Length: 17 ft., 2 in.

Cabin Width: 5 ft., 1 in.

Cabin Height: 4 ft., 11 in.

Maximum Payload: 2,524 lbs.

Payload, Full Fuel: 1,459 lbs.

Pressurized Stowage: 10 cubic ft. in the cabin

Aft Cargo Stowage: 84 cubic ft.

Cockpit at a Glance: Embraer Phenom 300E

A. The Embraer Phenom E00E’s pair of displays can be laid out in many ways. The primary flight display features a familiar Garmin interface, with airspeed and altitude tapes plus attitude information.

B. The multifunction display hosts the power and propulsion system schematic in this view.

C. A Garmin GTC-style touchscreen controller also follows the similar control unit found in many new piston and turboprop airplanes.

D. The power levers on the right side of the pilot’s seat are set as required for the necessary engine power output.

E. The flight control yoke is used to control pitch and roll.

This feature first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post We Fly: Embraer Phenom 300E appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I recently caught up my logbook in preparation for a New Zealand PPL validation, and I’m closing in on 16,000 hours. The country’s authorities also wanted to know my solo time—e.g., sole occupant of the aircraft. The number was surprisingly small, most from way back when I was a Part 135 freight dog. These days, all my work flying is multipilot, but even when puttering around in my Stinson 108, I’m usually accompanied by my wife or friends. I don’t mind flying alone, per say, but I do find it more rewarding when there’s someone with whom to share the experience.

In two decades at the airlines, I’ve come to appreciate that those I fly with really are one of the best parts of the job. Over the years, I’ve shared the flight deck with hundreds of pilots and enjoyed flying with almost all of them. Going through my logbook, I see so many familiar names—and some are still good friends. This is a small industry, and I have chance encounters with past colleagues all the time—in airplanes and airports, obviously, but also in crew vans and layover hotels and pilot-frequented bars, like Darwin’s Theory in Anchorage, Alaska, or Moose’s Saloon in Kalispell, Montana.

My last two airlines, Horizon Air and Compass, were small regional carriers, and it was pretty common to fly with the same person multiple times. This didn’t happen much during my first eight years with my current employer as we’re a huge airline of 17,000 pilots, and over that time I flew three aircraft types out of three large bases. Once I bid to the fairly small Seattle 737 base, though, I started occasionally flying with the same first officers, and it was nice to experience that familiar, small-airline vibe once again.

• READ MORE: Exploring New Zealand’s Grand Islands by Air

One thing I haven’t done, until recently, is buddy-bid with anyone. This is the practice of coordinating your schedule bidding strategy with a pilot in your base to fly as many trips together as possible.

My good friend Brad Phillips, who I’ve written about here, buddy-bid the majority of his 11 years at Horizon Air with just two captains. I’ve also written about Joe and Margrit Fahan, a married couple at my airline who, prior to their joint retirement, buddy-bid international trips on the Airbus A330 together. Over the years, I’ve had trips where I really clicked with my counterpart and probably should have broached the idea of buddy-bidding but always figured that variety is the spice of life. Besides, doing so with any degree of success demands a good bit of seniority out of both parties, and until recently this is something I usually lacked.

But then in summer 2022, I flew with Steve Masek, and we went salmon fishing in Anchorage and had beers at Darwin’s and got along famously. We bid several more agreeable trips together, our wives met and gelled well, and Steve and Daniela gamely helped Dawn and I lay down 3,000 feet of PEX tubing the weekend before our hangar floor was poured. But then Masek got himself awarded a B737 captain slot, far below me on the list in that dark, dank corner where poor junior slobs are forced into reserve, red-eyes, and four-leg days. It was a dumb thing to do, but I’m thrilled for our junior FOs because Masek is a super guy and an excellent pilot.

Before his upgrade last fall, we buddy-bid one last long Anchorage overnight. We wet our lines in Ship Creek on a midnight rising tide, chomped cigars, and quaffed Woodford Reserve in the moonlight—and, alas, the salmon treated us to not even one solitary nibble.

• READ MORE: Part 2: Exploring New Zealand’s Grand Islands by Air

By then I had already found Masek’s replacement, Heather Griffin. We flew a three-day trip together last July and quickly realized that we were going to be fast friends. Heather got her start flying skydivers and is a licensed skydiver herself, as am I. Griffin also flies paragliders, which is a goal of mine. She snowboards and I ski, we both sail, and we both ride dirt bikes.

On the last day of our trip, she realized that I’m the guy who writes for FLYING and used to live on a sailboat and spent years cruising the Caribbean, and she told me that she actually decided to pursue an airline career after her dad (also a pilot) showed her my columns as evidence that she could fly for a stuffy old airline and still live an unconventional, adventurous life. Aw, hell—with me, flattery will get you everywhere. Instant BFF.

Griffin and I were planning a flying, camping, and dirt-biking trip to Tieton State Airport (4S6) in the Cascades of Washington state for a few weeks hence, and she and her husband, Kevin, accepted our invitation to join. We had a great weekend, flying the Stinson at sunrise and sunset, riding Bethel Ridge in the mornings, splashing in Rimrock Lake during the sweltering afternoons, and talking around the campfire while millions of bright stars wheeled overhead. Dawn got to know Heather and liked her a lot.

Meanwhile, I developed a man-crush on Kevin, who’s as cool as his wife: an air ambulance pilot with a bunch of tailwheel time, a badass dirt bike rider, and a great storyteller with a wicked sense of humor and a colorful past as a Coast Guard flight mechanic, commercial fisherman, and Alaskan surf shop operator.

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With the spouses properly introduced, Griffin and I started buddy-bidding. When the PBS window opens each month, we peruse the bid package and text back and forth, debating the merits of various trips and crafting a common strategy that will fit both of our plans. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. When the schedule assignments come out, we dig into the reasons report, figuring out what we did right and where we went wrong. As our trips together approach, we confer again to make layover plans: playing pinball in Raleigh, North Carolina, skydiving in Phoenix, roping up at an Anchorage climbing gym, or skiing at Lake Tahoe.

In cruise, shared interests fuel our conversations, and future adventures are a frequent topic. It didn’t take much to convince Heather and Kevin to join Dawn and I on an 11-day, 11-person dirt bike trip down Baja California in January. Griffin’s dad, Scott Condon, came too—and at 65 turned out to be the best and fastest rider of us all. It was a fantastic time with a wonderful group of friends, and we’re planning another big ride in the Pacific Northwest this summer.

In February, Heather and I got skunked, our buddy-bidding strategy foiled by pilots just senior to us. I flew with a bunch of great folks anyway—several of them brand-new to the airline—and had a lot of fun. March brought better luck. I’m about to fly a five-day trip with Griffin that includes a long Cozumel layover, and later on we have an easy four-day with 26 hours in Cabo San Lucas, where Dawn and Kevin will join us.

Most days, this is a really good job, and I frequently wonder at my good fortune. And then, when I thought my work life couldn’t get much better, I gained a good friend to fly with—and it did!

This column first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

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