Airplanes
I love small planes, and over the years I've gotten acquainted with quite a few - so here are some very short reviews of the ones I've gotten to know. The notes below are in reverse chronological order - most recent at the top.
Sting S3
The Sting S3 has superb visibility and sporty handling, has about as much performance as an LSA can have, comes with a standard ballistic parachute, and offers a decent useful load as well, in a package that is quite beautiful. It has some flaws, but on the whole this airplane is very "right".
So, I bought one.
The Sting attracts attention on the ramp. Its compound curves and rivet-free surfaces give it an aerodynamic, organic, even sensuous appearance. The shape is dominated by the large, tinted canopy: this is an airplane that emphasizes the visual - it is both to be looked out of and looked at.
Control forces are light at low speeds, and become moderate in pitch and roll at cruise speed. The controls are fairly quick, with an overall sporty feel. The airplane is nowhere near as sensitive as the RV-12, but still, it would be nice to have a bit more stick feedback at approach speeds. Yaw is strangely neutral: rudder forces are low and it's important to pay attention to the ball when flying the traffic pattern. When cruising, the pilot can establish any yaw state from ball centered up to a half-ball-width off center - and the Sting will stay that way with the pilot's feet on the floor. So, when getting established in cruise, it's worth taking a moment to make sure the ball is centered. This yaw-neutral behavior may explain the redesigned rudder on the later S4 model.
Avionics that could serve a small airliner
The configuration is conventional for a low-wing LSA: side-by-side seating under a front-hinged one-piece canopy, with dual control sticks, and avionics that could serve a small airliner. Controls fall comfortably to hand, but the rudder pedals are not easily adjusted (although that's been fixed in the S4). The throttle is a proper console type rather than a Cessna-style plunger. Pitch trim is a throttle-like control located next to the actual throttle, and is set up so that cruise calls for nearly full forward trim and approach with full flaps calls for full aft trim. The flaps are activated by a Johnson bar between the seats; on the later Sting S4 they are electrically operated. The airplane has a fully-featured GPS-coupled autopilot, with a "blue button" that will take over and return the airplane to level flight if the pilot should become disoriented - a nice safety feature which I expect will be replaced in future autopilots by a fully-autonomous "get me down on a runway" capability, eventually.
The cabin is 44 inches wide, 2 inches wider than a Beechcraft Bonanza, 3 inches wider than an RV-12, and an inch narrower than a Diamond DA40. It is wide enough for two men to sit straight and have a gap between their shoulders, but the three extra inches of width in a Sportcruiser would be an upgrade. The seating position is comfortable even on long flights, although the cushions are fairly thin and after five hours I did notice a hard spot where the seat base met the seat back; a thin cushion should fix that. Visibility is excellent over the low nose (which tends to befuddle anyone trained in a Cessna or Piper at first) and in almost every direction including straight aft. There is no "A pillar" obstructing the view, as the roll cage is just behind the occupants' heads. Downward visibility past the wing leading edge is very good, much better than a Sportcruiser or Bristell, although not quite as good as an RV-12 or Tecnam Sierra. The interior features an automotive-style instrument panel in polished carbon fiber, and the seats have sports-car styling and two-tone coloring; but the grey-carpeted interior surfaces and foam stick grips are a little basic (plastic or perhaps wood grips would be more in keeping with the airplane's aesthetic). The Sting S4 is offered with a leather interior.
As with many LSAs, storage space is limited; sadly (for me), it's more limited in the S3 than in most. Folding the seats forward exposes separate, deep storage bins, each big enough for a medium-size backpack or holdall; and there is a useful cargo net on the parcel shelf behind the headrests and under the curved, sloping aft window. It's enough for a weekend getaway, certainly, and perhaps more if you're creative, but there is no way you're going to get a roll-aboard in there (unless it gets its own seat!). In the S4 model, there is a good-sized, open-top baggage area behind the seats - although a roll-aboard still may not fit, because of the relatively narrow access.
In most LSAs I've written about, the takeoff technique I use is to hold full up elevator to lift the lightly-loaded nosewheel almost as soon as power is applied, then ease off the back-pressure to hold the nosewheel just off the ground, until the airplane lifts off, while steering with rudder. This will not really work with the Sting: it has a larger load on the nosewheel, so even full up elevator will not lift the wheel off the ground until the airplane builds up some speed, at which point the large control deflection can cause a rapid over-rotation. In fact, the airplane sits quite nose-high on the ground, and if you simply apply full power it will lift off by itself, with no pilot action - but in a crosswind this can lead to it skipping sideways on the runway before lifting clear of the ground. I now let the airplane build up some speed, and at around 30 kt I start to apply gentle back pressure until the airplane rotates smoothly at about 40 knots. Once off the ground, I check the pitch and accelerate in ground effect to establish a good climb speed (60-75 knots) - which, as with most LSAs, results in most of the "takeoff run" actually happening in the air! The book calls for one notch of flaps for takeoff, but unless you're flying out of a short field it's not necessary. With the light control forces at low speeds, a gentle touch on the controls is key to a smooth start to the flight.
In cruise, speed at 75% will settle down at 115+ kTAS, so you can plan on cross-country times comparable to a Cherokee or C172, on a little over 5 gph. The Sting does tend to wag its tail in turbulence (perhaps because of that apparent deadband in the yaw stability) but otherwise feels solid, and the light handling invites maneuvering. Noise levels are around 95 dB, which is to be expected with all that plexiglass, but the Rotax 912 delivers low levels of vibration, and with noise-cancelling headsets the airplane is comfortable to travel in. The large canopy practically requires a Koger sunshade, but there are three vents - a front vent and two side vents - that provide copious cooling air in flight. The side vents are a particularly clever design I had not seen before. In any case, at 2,000 ft on a warm, humid day in Florida there was more than enough cooling for comfort; but on a warm day, occupants can quickly get hot and sweaty during ground operations. Did I mention that the visibility is spectacular?
The traffic pattern calls for a little advance planning. Flap limiting speeds are low - 75 kt for one notch of flaps, and just 65 kt for full flaps - and slips with full flaps are prohibited. So, if the airplane is too high on the approach, there isn't a lot you can do about it. And, when sharing a traffic pattern with SR22s that run downwind at 90 kt, trying to fly below 65 kt is just asking to be overrun from behind. A technique that seems to work fairly well is to drive around the pattern at 80-90 knots, then slow to 75 on base (transitioning to full aft trim) and pull one notch of flaps, then raise the nose to slow down and go to full flaps a mile or so from the threshold. Once the Sting is slowed down, with the high drag from its full split flaps, it comes down steeply at idle power - like a Cessna with the Fowlers out - and many Sting pilots like to add a touch of power on short final. The airplane's landing gear legs are solid composite and touchdown feels quite firm. The Sting's demonstrated crosswind capability is a remarkable 17 knots. It is important, in landing, to get the airplane slowed down and land with the nose well up: the nose gear leg is long, and any attempt to land flat or "push the plane on" will cause the nosewheel to touch first and result in a bounce. My impression is that the S3 is a bit more prone to bouncing than most small planes.
On the ground, the brakes are operated by toe pedals, and the nosewheel is steerable. The turning radius is small, and with the direct nosewheel steering there is a temptation to drive the airplane around like a go-kart on the ground, which is probably not actually a great idea. In hot weather, it is best to taxi with the canopy open for cooling. The canopy latching system is secure, but not the most user-friendly implementation I've seen: there are three separate latches, and the side latches can be finicky, while the overhead latch (which has a lock) lacks any positioning detent. Like other LSAs, the Sting can easily be manhandled into parking places and hangars, but it has some weight on the nosewheel, so leaning on the tail to spin the airplane around on the spot is not easy or advised. Even so, if two adults put their weight on the steps to climb aboard at the same time, the airplane's nosewheel will come off the ground; pilots should wait for passengers to be fully up on the wing, before putting weight on the step.
The Sting has three fuel tanks: a main underfloor tank in the fuselage, and two auxiliary tanks in the wings. The main tank holds 20.5 usable gallons, enough for at least 3 hours of cruising flight, with over an hour in reserve. The wing tanks hold 6 gallons each, adding another two and a half hours. Fuel management is trivial: put fuel in a tank and make sure the fuel valve is on (the book recommends leaving it on all the time). The wing tanks drain into the main tank, and the single fuel gauge reads only the contents of the main tank, reading full until the wing tanks are empty. When filling, fill and cap the main tank, before filling the wings. The fuel gauge is not a strong point: it is insufficiently damped, and can swing wildly in turbulence; I use a (calibrated) fuel flow meter and totalizer to monitor fuel quantity. Range on the main tank is about 350 nautical miles; filling the wings extends the range to nearly 600 nautical miles in a single 5:20 sitting (both ranges assume a one-hour reserve). There are some obvious concerns about having an underfloor fuel tank, but it is technically outside the cabin (isolated by the composite cabin floor) and the manufacturer has done drop tests to show that it is unlikely the tank would be penetrated even in a "hard landing" that collapses the gear.
One of the airplane's strong points is its good useful load (for an LSA, at least). With a 180-lb pilot and a 120-lb passenger, and the standard ballistic parachute, you can fill all the tanks and carry 18 lb of bags. With two 180-lb occupants (and parachute) you can still fill the main tank and carry 30 lb of bags. The parachute is deployed by a rocket fired from the aft part of the parcel shelf through the rear window (when loading the plane, it is thus important not to push bags back into the rear parcel shelf area, where they could interfere with deployment). Ballistic parachutes are controversial, but I like the safety factor. There has been one parachute deployment from a Sting (with the pilot - the sole occupant - saved) so we know that the parachute installation does work!
As I said, I bought one and I'm very happy with it.
The cabin is 44 inches wide, 2 inches wider than a Beechcraft Bonanza, 3 inches wider than an RV-12, and an inch narrower than a Diamond DA40. It is wide enough for two men to sit straight and have a gap between their shoulders, but the three extra inches of width in a Sportcruiser would be an upgrade. The seating position is comfortable even on long flights, although the cushions are fairly thin and after five hours I did notice a hard spot where the seat base met the seat back; a thin cushion should fix that. Visibility is excellent over the low nose (which tends to befuddle anyone trained in a Cessna or Piper at first) and in almost every direction including straight aft. There is no "A pillar" obstructing the view, as the roll cage is just behind the occupants' heads. Downward visibility past the wing leading edge is very good, much better than a Sportcruiser or Bristell, although not quite as good as an RV-12 or Tecnam Sierra. The interior features an automotive-style instrument panel in polished carbon fiber, and the seats have sports-car styling and two-tone coloring; but the grey-carpeted interior surfaces and foam stick grips are a little basic (plastic or perhaps wood grips would be more in keeping with the airplane's aesthetic). The Sting S4 is offered with a leather interior.
As with many LSAs, storage space is limited; sadly (for me), it's more limited in the S3 than in most. Folding the seats forward exposes separate, deep storage bins, each big enough for a medium-size backpack or holdall; and there is a useful cargo net on the parcel shelf behind the headrests and under the curved, sloping aft window. It's enough for a weekend getaway, certainly, and perhaps more if you're creative, but there is no way you're going to get a roll-aboard in there (unless it gets its own seat!). In the S4 model, there is a good-sized, open-top baggage area behind the seats - although a roll-aboard still may not fit, because of the relatively narrow access.
In most LSAs I've written about, the takeoff technique I use is to hold full up elevator to lift the lightly-loaded nosewheel almost as soon as power is applied, then ease off the back-pressure to hold the nosewheel just off the ground, until the airplane lifts off, while steering with rudder. This will not really work with the Sting: it has a larger load on the nosewheel, so even full up elevator will not lift the wheel off the ground until the airplane builds up some speed, at which point the large control deflection can cause a rapid over-rotation. In fact, the airplane sits quite nose-high on the ground, and if you simply apply full power it will lift off by itself, with no pilot action - but in a crosswind this can lead to it skipping sideways on the runway before lifting clear of the ground. I now let the airplane build up some speed, and at around 30 kt I start to apply gentle back pressure until the airplane rotates smoothly at about 40 knots. Once off the ground, I check the pitch and accelerate in ground effect to establish a good climb speed (60-75 knots) - which, as with most LSAs, results in most of the "takeoff run" actually happening in the air! The book calls for one notch of flaps for takeoff, but unless you're flying out of a short field it's not necessary. With the light control forces at low speeds, a gentle touch on the controls is key to a smooth start to the flight.
In cruise, speed at 75% will settle down at 115+ kTAS, so you can plan on cross-country times comparable to a Cherokee or C172, on a little over 5 gph. The Sting does tend to wag its tail in turbulence (perhaps because of that apparent deadband in the yaw stability) but otherwise feels solid, and the light handling invites maneuvering. Noise levels are around 95 dB, which is to be expected with all that plexiglass, but the Rotax 912 delivers low levels of vibration, and with noise-cancelling headsets the airplane is comfortable to travel in. The large canopy practically requires a Koger sunshade, but there are three vents - a front vent and two side vents - that provide copious cooling air in flight. The side vents are a particularly clever design I had not seen before. In any case, at 2,000 ft on a warm, humid day in Florida there was more than enough cooling for comfort; but on a warm day, occupants can quickly get hot and sweaty during ground operations. Did I mention that the visibility is spectacular?
The traffic pattern calls for a little advance planning. Flap limiting speeds are low - 75 kt for one notch of flaps, and just 65 kt for full flaps - and slips with full flaps are prohibited. So, if the airplane is too high on the approach, there isn't a lot you can do about it. And, when sharing a traffic pattern with SR22s that run downwind at 90 kt, trying to fly below 65 kt is just asking to be overrun from behind. A technique that seems to work fairly well is to drive around the pattern at 80-90 knots, then slow to 75 on base (transitioning to full aft trim) and pull one notch of flaps, then raise the nose to slow down and go to full flaps a mile or so from the threshold. Once the Sting is slowed down, with the high drag from its full split flaps, it comes down steeply at idle power - like a Cessna with the Fowlers out - and many Sting pilots like to add a touch of power on short final. The airplane's landing gear legs are solid composite and touchdown feels quite firm. The Sting's demonstrated crosswind capability is a remarkable 17 knots. It is important, in landing, to get the airplane slowed down and land with the nose well up: the nose gear leg is long, and any attempt to land flat or "push the plane on" will cause the nosewheel to touch first and result in a bounce. My impression is that the S3 is a bit more prone to bouncing than most small planes.
On the ground, the brakes are operated by toe pedals, and the nosewheel is steerable. The turning radius is small, and with the direct nosewheel steering there is a temptation to drive the airplane around like a go-kart on the ground, which is probably not actually a great idea. In hot weather, it is best to taxi with the canopy open for cooling. The canopy latching system is secure, but not the most user-friendly implementation I've seen: there are three separate latches, and the side latches can be finicky, while the overhead latch (which has a lock) lacks any positioning detent. Like other LSAs, the Sting can easily be manhandled into parking places and hangars, but it has some weight on the nosewheel, so leaning on the tail to spin the airplane around on the spot is not easy or advised. Even so, if two adults put their weight on the steps to climb aboard at the same time, the airplane's nosewheel will come off the ground; pilots should wait for passengers to be fully up on the wing, before putting weight on the step.
The Sting has three fuel tanks: a main underfloor tank in the fuselage, and two auxiliary tanks in the wings. The main tank holds 20.5 usable gallons, enough for at least 3 hours of cruising flight, with over an hour in reserve. The wing tanks hold 6 gallons each, adding another two and a half hours. Fuel management is trivial: put fuel in a tank and make sure the fuel valve is on (the book recommends leaving it on all the time). The wing tanks drain into the main tank, and the single fuel gauge reads only the contents of the main tank, reading full until the wing tanks are empty. When filling, fill and cap the main tank, before filling the wings. The fuel gauge is not a strong point: it is insufficiently damped, and can swing wildly in turbulence; I use a (calibrated) fuel flow meter and totalizer to monitor fuel quantity. Range on the main tank is about 350 nautical miles; filling the wings extends the range to nearly 600 nautical miles in a single 5:20 sitting (both ranges assume a one-hour reserve). There are some obvious concerns about having an underfloor fuel tank, but it is technically outside the cabin (isolated by the composite cabin floor) and the manufacturer has done drop tests to show that it is unlikely the tank would be penetrated even in a "hard landing" that collapses the gear.
One of the airplane's strong points is its good useful load (for an LSA, at least). With a 180-lb pilot and a 120-lb passenger, and the standard ballistic parachute, you can fill all the tanks and carry 18 lb of bags. With two 180-lb occupants (and parachute) you can still fill the main tank and carry 30 lb of bags. The parachute is deployed by a rocket fired from the aft part of the parcel shelf through the rear window (when loading the plane, it is thus important not to push bags back into the rear parcel shelf area, where they could interfere with deployment). Ballistic parachutes are controversial, but I like the safety factor. There has been one parachute deployment from a Sting (with the pilot - the sole occupant - saved) so we know that the parachute installation does work!
As I said, I bought one and I'm very happy with it.
Quicksilver Sport 2S
The Quicksilver is an "ultralight-style" Light Sport Aircraft (LSA), an open-frame aircraft - it has no fuselage covering at all - with dacron-covered wings. Not only was the entirely-open-air powered flight experience something I had been wanting to try for a long time, it was also the ideal way to get a Flight Review without sharing a small, enclosed aircraft cockpit during the Covid-19 pandemic!
The original Quicksilver was a single-seat ultralight, derived from an early hang glider. However, the pilots of those airplanes needed a way to get in-flight instruction before flying solo, so a two-seat platform was required for that purpose. The Sport 2S is the latest iteration of that platform.
(Historical note: a two-seat "ultralight" was not legally an ultralight, which created legal and insurance challenges for operators of these training airplanes, who had to either operate them "under the radar" or register them as Experimental aircraft. This issue was the original impetus for the development of the LSA rule, which later led to the emergence of a new generation of faster, fully-enclosed 2-seat airplanes - including my own Sting S3.)
Most Quicksilver models use wire bracing, with wires both below and above the wings. The Sport 2S variant has struts, which eliminates the need for top rigging (the kingpost and wires above the wing). In true ultralight fashion, the aircraft uses a two-stroke engine, a Rotax 582 (to date, this is the only aircraft I've flown with a 2-stroke engine). In Quicksilver models, the engine is mounted at the aft center of the wing, so the prop is behind and above you in flight, which helps to reduce wind buffeting and noise levels.
Walk-around is not quick: there are a lot of bolts, locking pins and wire swages to check. Entry into the sturdy-looking, padded seat is not difficult, but does involve carefully negotiating a small maze of tubes and cables. The seating position is comfortable and there is plenty of elbow room, but it does not seem to be possible to adjust pedal position. Goggles and a flight suit are required, because there is no windshield. It is important to ensure that nothing can get loose, because loose items may go through the propeller!
Engine start is electric, and the airplane taxis nimbly, like a go-kart on its tricycle gear, with a remarkably small turning circle. Unlike trike-type ultralights, the Quicksilver uses conventional ground steering: push the left pedal to turn left.
Takeoff run is fairly short, as one would expect for an aircraft with a climb speed in the 30s. The actual rotation requires a large aft stick movement, with the stick being quickly centered again once airborne.
I can't report rate of climb because the aircraft is not equipped with a VSI, and cruising altitude is typically 500'. The instrument panel, which is mounted high, above the pilot's normal line of sight, is minimalist: airspeed, altimeter, engine information system, radio, and transponder/ADSB. The basic concept of the airplane emphasizes flying by feel, and the location of the instrument panel reflects that - if you don't look for it, you don't see it.
The original Quicksilver used weight shift for pitch control, and rudder to turn, with a large amount of dihedral to convert rudder-induced yaw into roll for turning. Although the Sport 2S has three-axis controls, the aircraft's geometry is similar, and as a result only two control axes are used in practice: elevator for pitch, and rudder for turns. The ailerons produce significant adverse yaw which, combined with the dihedral, makes them frustrating to use for roll control, and I was advised to center the stick and use rudder only for turns. Pitch forces are light, but the aircraft is not "twitchy" in pitch because the stick movements are large - the only aircraft I've flown with comparably large stick movements in pitch was the Piper Cub. There is a bungee trim at the base of the center-mounted stick: using it required switching hands on the stick first. Rudder forces are also quite light, and unlike the elevator, the rudder is quick: it is easy to set up a PIO in yaw. Turns require steady rudder pressure to establish the bank angle; additional power is needed in even a 20-degree bank, and both the turn and the pitch-down effect of the added power mean that turns also require a good deal of aft stick. At first I felt the rudder-only method of roll control was disconcertingly indirect, but I got used to it quite quickly.
The Quicksilver is a high-drag aircraft. In fact, you get a visceral sense for the drag: the physical impact of air on your body, as you sit in a seat with neither windshield not fairing, conveys it vividly. Your hair tugs at your scalp; when you turn your head you feel the pressure on your cheek; even if you loosen your shoulder straps it is an effort to lean forward. Motorcycle aficionados will know the sensations. And the high noise level - even with aviation headsets and intercom, conversation involves shouting - is a constant reminder that you are not so much soaring through the air, as being rammed forcibly through it.
A consequence of the high drag is that, combined with the high thrust line, a failure of that 2-stroke engine requires more assertive action than pilots of heavier, more conventional airplanes might expect. Because of the high thrust line, the engine is constantly trying to push the nose down, and in trimmed flight the elevator is holding the nose up against the pressure of the engine. If the engine fails, the airplane will pitch up quickly, and it will lose speed very rapidly because of the high drag. Being a slow airplane, it does not have much speed to lose before it stalls. And, also because of the high drag, the airplane's glide attitude is steeply nose down rather than the relatively flat attitude a lower-drag machine would require. The pilot needs to be quick, if the engine hesitates, to get the stick forward and the nose down, even as the airplane is trying to pitch up.
As a platform for sightseeing, the Quicksilver is remarkable: without fuselage or fairing, the view of the ground is as unobstructed as it gets, including the ground close in front of the aircraft, where most airplanes have a huge blind spot. And, with no windshield, that view is also free of distortion. There are some limitations on viewing: from the pilot's seat, the passenger obscures the view to the right and wind pressure makes it more difficult to lean forward to see that way; and as a photographic platform the airplane presents multiple wires and tubes that make it hard to get a clear shot (a camera leash is a must!). And, the high wing obscures the view into the turn in all but the shallowest banks. Still, these are details: the only thing I've ever flown with better sightseeing characteristics is a hang glider.
The Quicksilver does not need a large airport: the low flight speed requires little runway, and makes the aircraft highly maneuverable on the approach even with the rudder-controlled roll; and the high drag gives it a remarkably steep approach capability. Even with partial power, the landing approach is steep. I mean steep, like a C150 with 40 degree flaps; steeper than a sailplane with full spoilers. Steep.
Surprisingly, I found I was ready to be back on the ground after a relatively short time in the airplane. While it was fun, and the low speed and exposed seating provided remarkable sightseeing, the wind buffeting and the noise levels quickly became tiring. Also, I felt almost guilty on behalf of the Quicksilver itself, which felt like a reluctant aircraft, flying only because it was being forced to by its insistent engine; when that engine was throttled back the airplane acted like a horse headed back to the barn!
Quicksilver is a leader in the field of ultralights, arguably the classic ultralight brand - the Piper Cub of ultralights, you might say. So, definitely a prized logbook entry, and I'm very glad to have had a chance to fly one. These very simple aircraft have a natural appeal, and should be ideal candidates for electric power, giving them quieter operations for their relatively short missions. I would love to do some more ultralight flying - but maybe next time in something with more conventional control setup, and a windshield!
The Quicksilver is an "ultralight-style" Light Sport Aircraft (LSA), an open-frame aircraft - it has no fuselage covering at all - with dacron-covered wings. Not only was the entirely-open-air powered flight experience something I had been wanting to try for a long time, it was also the ideal way to get a Flight Review without sharing a small, enclosed aircraft cockpit during the Covid-19 pandemic!
The original Quicksilver was a single-seat ultralight, derived from an early hang glider. However, the pilots of those airplanes needed a way to get in-flight instruction before flying solo, so a two-seat platform was required for that purpose. The Sport 2S is the latest iteration of that platform.
(Historical note: a two-seat "ultralight" was not legally an ultralight, which created legal and insurance challenges for operators of these training airplanes, who had to either operate them "under the radar" or register them as Experimental aircraft. This issue was the original impetus for the development of the LSA rule, which later led to the emergence of a new generation of faster, fully-enclosed 2-seat airplanes - including my own Sting S3.)
Most Quicksilver models use wire bracing, with wires both below and above the wings. The Sport 2S variant has struts, which eliminates the need for top rigging (the kingpost and wires above the wing). In true ultralight fashion, the aircraft uses a two-stroke engine, a Rotax 582 (to date, this is the only aircraft I've flown with a 2-stroke engine). In Quicksilver models, the engine is mounted at the aft center of the wing, so the prop is behind and above you in flight, which helps to reduce wind buffeting and noise levels.
Walk-around is not quick: there are a lot of bolts, locking pins and wire swages to check. Entry into the sturdy-looking, padded seat is not difficult, but does involve carefully negotiating a small maze of tubes and cables. The seating position is comfortable and there is plenty of elbow room, but it does not seem to be possible to adjust pedal position. Goggles and a flight suit are required, because there is no windshield. It is important to ensure that nothing can get loose, because loose items may go through the propeller!
Engine start is electric, and the airplane taxis nimbly, like a go-kart on its tricycle gear, with a remarkably small turning circle. Unlike trike-type ultralights, the Quicksilver uses conventional ground steering: push the left pedal to turn left.
Takeoff run is fairly short, as one would expect for an aircraft with a climb speed in the 30s. The actual rotation requires a large aft stick movement, with the stick being quickly centered again once airborne.
I can't report rate of climb because the aircraft is not equipped with a VSI, and cruising altitude is typically 500'. The instrument panel, which is mounted high, above the pilot's normal line of sight, is minimalist: airspeed, altimeter, engine information system, radio, and transponder/ADSB. The basic concept of the airplane emphasizes flying by feel, and the location of the instrument panel reflects that - if you don't look for it, you don't see it.
The original Quicksilver used weight shift for pitch control, and rudder to turn, with a large amount of dihedral to convert rudder-induced yaw into roll for turning. Although the Sport 2S has three-axis controls, the aircraft's geometry is similar, and as a result only two control axes are used in practice: elevator for pitch, and rudder for turns. The ailerons produce significant adverse yaw which, combined with the dihedral, makes them frustrating to use for roll control, and I was advised to center the stick and use rudder only for turns. Pitch forces are light, but the aircraft is not "twitchy" in pitch because the stick movements are large - the only aircraft I've flown with comparably large stick movements in pitch was the Piper Cub. There is a bungee trim at the base of the center-mounted stick: using it required switching hands on the stick first. Rudder forces are also quite light, and unlike the elevator, the rudder is quick: it is easy to set up a PIO in yaw. Turns require steady rudder pressure to establish the bank angle; additional power is needed in even a 20-degree bank, and both the turn and the pitch-down effect of the added power mean that turns also require a good deal of aft stick. At first I felt the rudder-only method of roll control was disconcertingly indirect, but I got used to it quite quickly.
The Quicksilver is a high-drag aircraft. In fact, you get a visceral sense for the drag: the physical impact of air on your body, as you sit in a seat with neither windshield not fairing, conveys it vividly. Your hair tugs at your scalp; when you turn your head you feel the pressure on your cheek; even if you loosen your shoulder straps it is an effort to lean forward. Motorcycle aficionados will know the sensations. And the high noise level - even with aviation headsets and intercom, conversation involves shouting - is a constant reminder that you are not so much soaring through the air, as being rammed forcibly through it.
A consequence of the high drag is that, combined with the high thrust line, a failure of that 2-stroke engine requires more assertive action than pilots of heavier, more conventional airplanes might expect. Because of the high thrust line, the engine is constantly trying to push the nose down, and in trimmed flight the elevator is holding the nose up against the pressure of the engine. If the engine fails, the airplane will pitch up quickly, and it will lose speed very rapidly because of the high drag. Being a slow airplane, it does not have much speed to lose before it stalls. And, also because of the high drag, the airplane's glide attitude is steeply nose down rather than the relatively flat attitude a lower-drag machine would require. The pilot needs to be quick, if the engine hesitates, to get the stick forward and the nose down, even as the airplane is trying to pitch up.
As a platform for sightseeing, the Quicksilver is remarkable: without fuselage or fairing, the view of the ground is as unobstructed as it gets, including the ground close in front of the aircraft, where most airplanes have a huge blind spot. And, with no windshield, that view is also free of distortion. There are some limitations on viewing: from the pilot's seat, the passenger obscures the view to the right and wind pressure makes it more difficult to lean forward to see that way; and as a photographic platform the airplane presents multiple wires and tubes that make it hard to get a clear shot (a camera leash is a must!). And, the high wing obscures the view into the turn in all but the shallowest banks. Still, these are details: the only thing I've ever flown with better sightseeing characteristics is a hang glider.
The Quicksilver does not need a large airport: the low flight speed requires little runway, and makes the aircraft highly maneuverable on the approach even with the rudder-controlled roll; and the high drag gives it a remarkably steep approach capability. Even with partial power, the landing approach is steep. I mean steep, like a C150 with 40 degree flaps; steeper than a sailplane with full spoilers. Steep.
Surprisingly, I found I was ready to be back on the ground after a relatively short time in the airplane. While it was fun, and the low speed and exposed seating provided remarkable sightseeing, the wind buffeting and the noise levels quickly became tiring. Also, I felt almost guilty on behalf of the Quicksilver itself, which felt like a reluctant aircraft, flying only because it was being forced to by its insistent engine; when that engine was throttled back the airplane acted like a horse headed back to the barn!
Quicksilver is a leader in the field of ultralights, arguably the classic ultralight brand - the Piper Cub of ultralights, you might say. So, definitely a prized logbook entry, and I'm very glad to have had a chance to fly one. These very simple aircraft have a natural appeal, and should be ideal candidates for electric power, giving them quieter operations for their relatively short missions. I would love to do some more ultralight flying - but maybe next time in something with more conventional control setup, and a windshield!
Diamond DA20-C1 Eclipse
This two-seat training airplane from Diamond is one I would have liked to see be more successful than it has been. It's a great-handling airplane with excellent visibility, and very respectable climb, cruise, and runway performance. As a training airplane it is one of the best I've come across, offering the new pilot a sporty experience with predictable handling, and requiring just a bit of planning for speed management. It's also able to climb quickly and get to and from the practice area expeditiously. It's not bad as a personal travel airplane either. It does have a few flaws, and I'll get to those, but if you're learning to fly and can find a school that operates these, jump on the opportunity, rather than let a Cessna 172 drain the joy of flight right out of you.
Although it is a two-seater, the DA20 Eclipse is not a Light Sport Airplane (LSA); the first DA20s entered service 13 years before the Light Sport rule was introduced. In any case, its 800 kg (1,764 lb) max gross weight is above the maximum limit for LSA by a full third, and its maximum cruising speed of 138 kt is 15% above the maximum allowed speed for an LSA. Although the DA20 is often perceived to be a newcomer in the training market, it is not: the original (Rotax-underpowered) DA20s entered service in 1992, followed by the Continental-engined DA20-C1 Eclipse in 1998. By now, the DA20 has trained pilots spanning a whole generation: some Eclipses are older than the trainees flying them.
Highlights: the airplane handles beautifully. It is not especially light on the controls; you have to apply pressure, and there's nothing twitchy, or especially quick, about the controls. Nevertheless, it responds to control inputs with authority. Despite the long, slender wings, the airplane will roll quite briskly. I remembered the original, Rotax-powered DA20 as being too light in pitch, and too heavy in roll; evidently Diamond's engineers fixed it for this model. Although the flaps do not have the authority of a Cessna's, the airplane's landing distance over a 50' obstacle matches a C172, at 1,300 ft. Cockpit width is 45 inches, about five inches wider than a 172, and wider than a Bonanza. Visibility in cruise is tremendous, albeit with a small blind spot below, because of the wings - but the wings' narrow chord is a help.
There are some negatives. The canopy opens aft, and thus cannot be open while the engine is running, even on the ground. During ground operations in warm, sunny climates, the occupants find themselves sitting in an airless solar oven. This issue alone may be a deal-breaker in hot places. And, if the canopy should open in flight, it's going to be a very bad day. In my view, aft-opening canopies are a mistake.
Second drawback: there is very little baggage space, essentially just a deep parcel shelf. You could put two smaller carry-ons in there - but not, say, a folding bicycle (as you could, in a Cessna 152). The fuel tank is in the fuselage, behind the seats, taking up much of what would be the baggage area. If you want an airplane for personal travel, this is an issue.
Third drawback, and a big one for the personal travel mission: the airplane cannot be operated in IMC. Its all-composite structure has no lightning protection, which means it cannot be IFR-certificated. You can equip the airplane for IFR, and file IFR in it - but you must restrict your operations to VMC. Of course, no-one with any sense would operate a little airplane like this under IFR in convective conditions; the IFR use case would be for stable cloud layers, making lightning a non-issue. But, that use case is not legal.
As you approach the airplane, you can readily see its sailplane heritage: long, slender wings, and an aft fuselage that tapers to a slim tailboom, fitted with a large vertical stabilizer and rudder, but quite a small horizontal stabilizer, and an elevator that looks tiny. It shares the sailplane heritage with its big brother, the four-seat DA40; unlike the DA40 (in my opinion), the DA20 is also quite beautiful.
The walk around is simple and brief. The one complication involves the clear panels under the wing, for inspecting the aileron pushrods; be prepared to scrunch low, and it's best to wear jeans. The narrow chord flaps look diminutive, to anyone accustomed to Cessna or Piper flaps. There is a single fuel tank, mounted in the aft fuselage where the baggage area should be. There is a school of thought that prefers to keep the fuel outside the cockpit area; on the other hand, this is a far more protected location than the wings (post-crash fires have been extraordinarily rare in Diamond aircraft). You will also notice that there is no trim tab on the elevator.
You climb into the cockpit from in front of the wing. It's a little awkward, but well-located handholds make it easier. The seat is distinctly reclined - the sailplane heritage coming through again. Some may find that a little unnerving at first, but it's quickly forgotten. Older occupants might find it a little more difficult to climb out of, though. The rudder pedals adjust; the seat does not.
There is quite a strong spring in the elevator circuit, which is apparent when checking for free control movement. The pitch trim adjusts the spring, which is why you didn't see a trim tab on the elevator; this, too, is typical of sailplanes. Test-cycling the flaps, you can't help notice how very small they are. Weight and balance appears to be pretty simple; I couldn't easily find a loading condition that was out of CG range, but with full tank and two men, baggage capacity is limited by max takeoff weight.
Engine start is straightforward, but has to wait until the canopy is closed and locked (check - locked! - you really can't have it come open in flight). Taxi is by differential braking, with a castoring nosewheel, and can be on the vague side. The wings appear unnervingly long when taxiing, but if a C172 would fit, the DA20 will fit.
Takeoff is straightforward. Initial climb is brisk - the book says 1,000 fpm - and at a steep nose angle. This is the one time when visibility is an issue: there is absolutely no forward visibility during the climb. I did not do a departure stall (or any stalls) in the airplane, but I imagine the deck angle would be nothing short of extreme.
Handling in the pattern is very comfortable. The airplane does what you expect. Control requires moderate pressure, but not much. There is a lot of control authority, which is reassuring. One limitation of the airplane, as a trainer, is that it has no aerodynamic pitch feel to speak of. The spring in the elevator circuit is the primary source of "feel" in pitch, so one of the slow flight/stall cues is simply not there. On the other hand, the airplane is approved for spin training.
The single fuel tank makes fuel management trivial: make sure you have enough, and don't shut it off. Capacity is 24 gallons: burning 5.2 gph, that's about 450+ nm per leg with a one-hour reserve, which is respectable enough.
Not surprisingly, the airplane's cleanliness and relatively high cruising speed (for a production two-seater) means it requires some advance thought if you want to get down to pattern altitude and into the white arc while still on downwind. The first notch of flaps appears to do very little. The second, however - at 30 degrees - creates a noticeable braking sensation, apparently adding quite a lot of drag. Even so, the airplane is not going to descend steeply; the approach angle is fairly flat. I didn't try a large-angle slip, but a small slip was straightforward and increased the descent rate noticeably.
Speed control is required on final; if you come in "hot", this airplane is going to float a long way. I couldn't get it stopped in the book number of 1,300', but 1,600' did not require heavy braking.
All things considered, this is a fun, sporty, reasonably quick little (VFR only) airplane, and a pleasure to fly.
This two-seat training airplane from Diamond is one I would have liked to see be more successful than it has been. It's a great-handling airplane with excellent visibility, and very respectable climb, cruise, and runway performance. As a training airplane it is one of the best I've come across, offering the new pilot a sporty experience with predictable handling, and requiring just a bit of planning for speed management. It's also able to climb quickly and get to and from the practice area expeditiously. It's not bad as a personal travel airplane either. It does have a few flaws, and I'll get to those, but if you're learning to fly and can find a school that operates these, jump on the opportunity, rather than let a Cessna 172 drain the joy of flight right out of you.
Although it is a two-seater, the DA20 Eclipse is not a Light Sport Airplane (LSA); the first DA20s entered service 13 years before the Light Sport rule was introduced. In any case, its 800 kg (1,764 lb) max gross weight is above the maximum limit for LSA by a full third, and its maximum cruising speed of 138 kt is 15% above the maximum allowed speed for an LSA. Although the DA20 is often perceived to be a newcomer in the training market, it is not: the original (Rotax-underpowered) DA20s entered service in 1992, followed by the Continental-engined DA20-C1 Eclipse in 1998. By now, the DA20 has trained pilots spanning a whole generation: some Eclipses are older than the trainees flying them.
Highlights: the airplane handles beautifully. It is not especially light on the controls; you have to apply pressure, and there's nothing twitchy, or especially quick, about the controls. Nevertheless, it responds to control inputs with authority. Despite the long, slender wings, the airplane will roll quite briskly. I remembered the original, Rotax-powered DA20 as being too light in pitch, and too heavy in roll; evidently Diamond's engineers fixed it for this model. Although the flaps do not have the authority of a Cessna's, the airplane's landing distance over a 50' obstacle matches a C172, at 1,300 ft. Cockpit width is 45 inches, about five inches wider than a 172, and wider than a Bonanza. Visibility in cruise is tremendous, albeit with a small blind spot below, because of the wings - but the wings' narrow chord is a help.
There are some negatives. The canopy opens aft, and thus cannot be open while the engine is running, even on the ground. During ground operations in warm, sunny climates, the occupants find themselves sitting in an airless solar oven. This issue alone may be a deal-breaker in hot places. And, if the canopy should open in flight, it's going to be a very bad day. In my view, aft-opening canopies are a mistake.
Second drawback: there is very little baggage space, essentially just a deep parcel shelf. You could put two smaller carry-ons in there - but not, say, a folding bicycle (as you could, in a Cessna 152). The fuel tank is in the fuselage, behind the seats, taking up much of what would be the baggage area. If you want an airplane for personal travel, this is an issue.
Third drawback, and a big one for the personal travel mission: the airplane cannot be operated in IMC. Its all-composite structure has no lightning protection, which means it cannot be IFR-certificated. You can equip the airplane for IFR, and file IFR in it - but you must restrict your operations to VMC. Of course, no-one with any sense would operate a little airplane like this under IFR in convective conditions; the IFR use case would be for stable cloud layers, making lightning a non-issue. But, that use case is not legal.
As you approach the airplane, you can readily see its sailplane heritage: long, slender wings, and an aft fuselage that tapers to a slim tailboom, fitted with a large vertical stabilizer and rudder, but quite a small horizontal stabilizer, and an elevator that looks tiny. It shares the sailplane heritage with its big brother, the four-seat DA40; unlike the DA40 (in my opinion), the DA20 is also quite beautiful.
The walk around is simple and brief. The one complication involves the clear panels under the wing, for inspecting the aileron pushrods; be prepared to scrunch low, and it's best to wear jeans. The narrow chord flaps look diminutive, to anyone accustomed to Cessna or Piper flaps. There is a single fuel tank, mounted in the aft fuselage where the baggage area should be. There is a school of thought that prefers to keep the fuel outside the cockpit area; on the other hand, this is a far more protected location than the wings (post-crash fires have been extraordinarily rare in Diamond aircraft). You will also notice that there is no trim tab on the elevator.
You climb into the cockpit from in front of the wing. It's a little awkward, but well-located handholds make it easier. The seat is distinctly reclined - the sailplane heritage coming through again. Some may find that a little unnerving at first, but it's quickly forgotten. Older occupants might find it a little more difficult to climb out of, though. The rudder pedals adjust; the seat does not.
There is quite a strong spring in the elevator circuit, which is apparent when checking for free control movement. The pitch trim adjusts the spring, which is why you didn't see a trim tab on the elevator; this, too, is typical of sailplanes. Test-cycling the flaps, you can't help notice how very small they are. Weight and balance appears to be pretty simple; I couldn't easily find a loading condition that was out of CG range, but with full tank and two men, baggage capacity is limited by max takeoff weight.
Engine start is straightforward, but has to wait until the canopy is closed and locked (check - locked! - you really can't have it come open in flight). Taxi is by differential braking, with a castoring nosewheel, and can be on the vague side. The wings appear unnervingly long when taxiing, but if a C172 would fit, the DA20 will fit.
Takeoff is straightforward. Initial climb is brisk - the book says 1,000 fpm - and at a steep nose angle. This is the one time when visibility is an issue: there is absolutely no forward visibility during the climb. I did not do a departure stall (or any stalls) in the airplane, but I imagine the deck angle would be nothing short of extreme.
Handling in the pattern is very comfortable. The airplane does what you expect. Control requires moderate pressure, but not much. There is a lot of control authority, which is reassuring. One limitation of the airplane, as a trainer, is that it has no aerodynamic pitch feel to speak of. The spring in the elevator circuit is the primary source of "feel" in pitch, so one of the slow flight/stall cues is simply not there. On the other hand, the airplane is approved for spin training.
The single fuel tank makes fuel management trivial: make sure you have enough, and don't shut it off. Capacity is 24 gallons: burning 5.2 gph, that's about 450+ nm per leg with a one-hour reserve, which is respectable enough.
Not surprisingly, the airplane's cleanliness and relatively high cruising speed (for a production two-seater) means it requires some advance thought if you want to get down to pattern altitude and into the white arc while still on downwind. The first notch of flaps appears to do very little. The second, however - at 30 degrees - creates a noticeable braking sensation, apparently adding quite a lot of drag. Even so, the airplane is not going to descend steeply; the approach angle is fairly flat. I didn't try a large-angle slip, but a small slip was straightforward and increased the descent rate noticeably.
Speed control is required on final; if you come in "hot", this airplane is going to float a long way. I couldn't get it stopped in the book number of 1,300', but 1,600' did not require heavy braking.
All things considered, this is a fun, sporty, reasonably quick little (VFR only) airplane, and a pleasure to fly.
Vans RV-12
The RV-12 is a simple, unpretentious little airplane with the reflexes of a cat. The only other machine I've flown with control response like this was the Falco. If the palm of your hand is touching the stick, you're going to over-control: thumb and two fingers are plenty.
The RV-12's shape invites words like "cute" rather than "sexy" or "fast-looking". Its canopy is bubble-round, with a fairly upright windshield. Looking inside, no-one you take flying in this airplane is going to mistake it for a Porsche; the ambience is more like that of a military airplane, with gray-painted metal surfaces and exposed structure. The cockpit is a comfortable width - the same as a Bonanza, at 41". The seats are basic. I found the seat comfortable enough for a 2-hour flight, but I'd have preferred more lumbar support; and the seat-to-pedals distance was on the long side for me (neither seat nor rudder pedal positions are adjustable). A suitable seat cushion should fix both issues.
An interesting feature of the airplane is that the wings are designed to be removable, for parking in a trailer, auto garage, or hangar corner. To facilitate this, the fuel is carried in the baggage area, rather than the wings - which no doubt contributes to its responsive roll rate. Some pilots don't like having the fuel tank in the baggage area, but it seems to me that it's a well-protected location, less likely to lead to a fuel spill/fire than tanks in the wing leading edges.
The RV-12 has several things going for it. Vans designs are known for their handling, and the RV-12's control responses are quick. Really, surprise-yourself quick. And yet, the airplane feels quite stable and predictable, and the control forces are well coordinated: it does not share the common LSA characteristic of being pitch-sensitive and roll-heavy. The controls remain quite light throughout the speed range. There is a powerful temptation to roll the plane, but the RV-12 is not aerobatic. Aside from making the pilot feel omnipotent, the quick controls do serve a useful purpose: LSAs are sensitive to wind gusts, and quick control response is a big help when landing in gusty conditions.
Another thing the -12 has going for it is its pedigree as a Vans design. Vans is an established kitplane manufacturer based in Oregon (the RV-12 is its first factory-built model) with a reputation for durable, simple, well-supported airplanes (and a sizable fan club/user group). The -12 is said to be a reliable, tough machine, suited for use as flight school trainer - not something you hear said about many LSAs. Nuisance items like cracked, vibrating interior plastic trim are not an issue on an airplane that hardly has any trim; but I also heard (from a flight school) that the landing gear and airframe are tough enough for flight school use.
A third key feature of the -12 is visibility. Low-wing airplanes tend to have better overall visibility because the pilot's line of sight is farther from the wing; but typical low-wing LSAs locate the pilot's upper body fairly far aft over the wing, so that visibility down is severely limited. The RV-12's cab-forward design, which contributes to the "cute" rather than "sexy" look, means that the occupants are sitting in front of the wing spar (the Tecnam Sierra has a similar layout). Visibility over the relatively short nose is better than most airplanes with the engine in front, and when the pilot is looking forward, the wings are only barely seen in peripheral vision, with excellent downward visibility past the leading edge of the wing. Also, the tip-up canopy has no canopy bow or "A" pillars to block the view. The windshield comes to the top of the instrument panel, so the airplane has no glareshield - and this is a good thing, because glareshields tend to reflect up onto the windshield. (A possible drawback, however, is that access to the back of the instrument panel must be difficult.) And, the relatively short (fore and aft) bubble canopy limits greenhouse heating of the cockpit - although a cockpit shade is still a must-have in sunny conditions.
Takeoff does not require much right rudder to stay straight. In flight, I saw 112kt at 5,500 RPM, without the wheel pants which, I gather, would add some 5kt. Power changes and flap changes both require re-setting the trim, so the trim button - oddly located on the panel - is kept busy. The airplane is so small, it needs aileron trim: if it's set up for two aboard, it will slowly roll left when flown solo - and vice versa. Unfortunately, it doesn't have aileron trim, which is a minor but real annoyance in a machine with such delightful handling. Control forces are light throughout the speed range, with minimal control feedback at low speeds, although the airplane's control response remains lively down to the stall. There is considerable yaw-induced roll. There is little adverse yaw in cruise, but it becomes more apparent at lower speeds. In turbulence the airplane tends to yaw-hunt, a motion I have found can make me a bit queasy after a while if I haven't been flying much lately. The airplane's low wing loading, quick responses, and need for trimming might not make the best hand-flown instrument platform - of course, instrument flying is not its primary mission. Power off, the stall is preceded by modest but clear buffeting, followed by a relatively sharp break with pronounced wing drop. This is not an airplane you can comfortably fly around in a semi-stalled condition; when it stalls, it stalls. Power on, looking out at the wingtip, the airplane stalls at a crazy deck angle that looks close to 45 degrees; to departure-stall this plane, it appears you'd really, really have to not be paying attention. In the traffic pattern, it's best to fly the downwind at close to cruising speed to avoid being overrun from behind, but on final the airplane wants to be flown at 60kt - or 55kt for a short field. Flaps are operated with a Johnson bar between the seats, and the airplane isn't quite wide enough to make this a totally comfortable operation, but it is simple and reliable.
The airplane does have some limitations. Range is one. It carries 19.8 gallons in a single fuselage tank, but because of the tank's shape about 4 gallons are unusable in a climb (such as a go-around). That's 50 minutes' worth of fuel. Add 2.4 gallons for a 30-minute reserve, and you need to flight plan to arrive with 6.4 gallons, leaving 13.4 gallons for travel. That gives you about 2.9 hours in cruise, which isn't a lot in a slow airplane. Useful range, as a result, is only about 325 nautical miles rather than the 555 miles Vans advertises (4.25 hours/4.7 gph/ 114kt). Also, the flaps don't create much drag, and although the airplane isn't as slippery as a composite machine, it's quite clean, so you'll be getting practice with slips - and if you carry excess speed to the runway, it will float a long way. Crosswind capability is limited to about 11kt - comparable to a SportCruiser or Cessna 152, but far less than the Tecnam Sierra or Sting S3 can handle. And there is no option to fit a ballistic parachute - not everyone wants one, of course, but here it's not an option.
The example I flew was equipped with Dynon Skyview Touch avionics and a two-axis autopilot and ADS-B. So, you have full instruments, weather, and GPS-coupled autopilot, in case you want to go places. Just remember, you'll be doing it 325 miles at a time!
The RV-12 is a simple, unpretentious little airplane with the reflexes of a cat. The only other machine I've flown with control response like this was the Falco. If the palm of your hand is touching the stick, you're going to over-control: thumb and two fingers are plenty.
The RV-12's shape invites words like "cute" rather than "sexy" or "fast-looking". Its canopy is bubble-round, with a fairly upright windshield. Looking inside, no-one you take flying in this airplane is going to mistake it for a Porsche; the ambience is more like that of a military airplane, with gray-painted metal surfaces and exposed structure. The cockpit is a comfortable width - the same as a Bonanza, at 41". The seats are basic. I found the seat comfortable enough for a 2-hour flight, but I'd have preferred more lumbar support; and the seat-to-pedals distance was on the long side for me (neither seat nor rudder pedal positions are adjustable). A suitable seat cushion should fix both issues.
An interesting feature of the airplane is that the wings are designed to be removable, for parking in a trailer, auto garage, or hangar corner. To facilitate this, the fuel is carried in the baggage area, rather than the wings - which no doubt contributes to its responsive roll rate. Some pilots don't like having the fuel tank in the baggage area, but it seems to me that it's a well-protected location, less likely to lead to a fuel spill/fire than tanks in the wing leading edges.
The RV-12 has several things going for it. Vans designs are known for their handling, and the RV-12's control responses are quick. Really, surprise-yourself quick. And yet, the airplane feels quite stable and predictable, and the control forces are well coordinated: it does not share the common LSA characteristic of being pitch-sensitive and roll-heavy. The controls remain quite light throughout the speed range. There is a powerful temptation to roll the plane, but the RV-12 is not aerobatic. Aside from making the pilot feel omnipotent, the quick controls do serve a useful purpose: LSAs are sensitive to wind gusts, and quick control response is a big help when landing in gusty conditions.
Another thing the -12 has going for it is its pedigree as a Vans design. Vans is an established kitplane manufacturer based in Oregon (the RV-12 is its first factory-built model) with a reputation for durable, simple, well-supported airplanes (and a sizable fan club/user group). The -12 is said to be a reliable, tough machine, suited for use as flight school trainer - not something you hear said about many LSAs. Nuisance items like cracked, vibrating interior plastic trim are not an issue on an airplane that hardly has any trim; but I also heard (from a flight school) that the landing gear and airframe are tough enough for flight school use.
A third key feature of the -12 is visibility. Low-wing airplanes tend to have better overall visibility because the pilot's line of sight is farther from the wing; but typical low-wing LSAs locate the pilot's upper body fairly far aft over the wing, so that visibility down is severely limited. The RV-12's cab-forward design, which contributes to the "cute" rather than "sexy" look, means that the occupants are sitting in front of the wing spar (the Tecnam Sierra has a similar layout). Visibility over the relatively short nose is better than most airplanes with the engine in front, and when the pilot is looking forward, the wings are only barely seen in peripheral vision, with excellent downward visibility past the leading edge of the wing. Also, the tip-up canopy has no canopy bow or "A" pillars to block the view. The windshield comes to the top of the instrument panel, so the airplane has no glareshield - and this is a good thing, because glareshields tend to reflect up onto the windshield. (A possible drawback, however, is that access to the back of the instrument panel must be difficult.) And, the relatively short (fore and aft) bubble canopy limits greenhouse heating of the cockpit - although a cockpit shade is still a must-have in sunny conditions.
Takeoff does not require much right rudder to stay straight. In flight, I saw 112kt at 5,500 RPM, without the wheel pants which, I gather, would add some 5kt. Power changes and flap changes both require re-setting the trim, so the trim button - oddly located on the panel - is kept busy. The airplane is so small, it needs aileron trim: if it's set up for two aboard, it will slowly roll left when flown solo - and vice versa. Unfortunately, it doesn't have aileron trim, which is a minor but real annoyance in a machine with such delightful handling. Control forces are light throughout the speed range, with minimal control feedback at low speeds, although the airplane's control response remains lively down to the stall. There is considerable yaw-induced roll. There is little adverse yaw in cruise, but it becomes more apparent at lower speeds. In turbulence the airplane tends to yaw-hunt, a motion I have found can make me a bit queasy after a while if I haven't been flying much lately. The airplane's low wing loading, quick responses, and need for trimming might not make the best hand-flown instrument platform - of course, instrument flying is not its primary mission. Power off, the stall is preceded by modest but clear buffeting, followed by a relatively sharp break with pronounced wing drop. This is not an airplane you can comfortably fly around in a semi-stalled condition; when it stalls, it stalls. Power on, looking out at the wingtip, the airplane stalls at a crazy deck angle that looks close to 45 degrees; to departure-stall this plane, it appears you'd really, really have to not be paying attention. In the traffic pattern, it's best to fly the downwind at close to cruising speed to avoid being overrun from behind, but on final the airplane wants to be flown at 60kt - or 55kt for a short field. Flaps are operated with a Johnson bar between the seats, and the airplane isn't quite wide enough to make this a totally comfortable operation, but it is simple and reliable.
The airplane does have some limitations. Range is one. It carries 19.8 gallons in a single fuselage tank, but because of the tank's shape about 4 gallons are unusable in a climb (such as a go-around). That's 50 minutes' worth of fuel. Add 2.4 gallons for a 30-minute reserve, and you need to flight plan to arrive with 6.4 gallons, leaving 13.4 gallons for travel. That gives you about 2.9 hours in cruise, which isn't a lot in a slow airplane. Useful range, as a result, is only about 325 nautical miles rather than the 555 miles Vans advertises (4.25 hours/4.7 gph/ 114kt). Also, the flaps don't create much drag, and although the airplane isn't as slippery as a composite machine, it's quite clean, so you'll be getting practice with slips - and if you carry excess speed to the runway, it will float a long way. Crosswind capability is limited to about 11kt - comparable to a SportCruiser or Cessna 152, but far less than the Tecnam Sierra or Sting S3 can handle. And there is no option to fit a ballistic parachute - not everyone wants one, of course, but here it's not an option.
The example I flew was equipped with Dynon Skyview Touch avionics and a two-axis autopilot and ADS-B. So, you have full instruments, weather, and GPS-coupled autopilot, in case you want to go places. Just remember, you'll be doing it 325 miles at a time!
Progressive Aerodyne SeaRey
The SeaRey is a flying boat, a speedboat that flies, a pure fun machine. It is a 2-seater, a Light Sport Aircraft. It is actually amphibious, with wheels that can be lowered for runway operations. The wheels don't retract, as such: they reposition, but remain in the breeze - in the photo you can make out the left wheel, tucked up under the inboard part of the wing struts for water operations.
As an airplane, the SeaRey has limited utility beyond local sightseeing: it is slow, it has limited useful load, and it doesn't have much baggage space. But, for sightseeing, it is a marvel: the windows slide back (independently on the left and right sides) for arm-in-the-breeze flying; visibility over the nose is excellent with the engine behind you; the wing almost never interferes with visibility both because it is swept and because it is a long way above; and the ability to land on water means that coastal sightseeing can be low, slow, and yet safe. I began my seaplane training in this airplane, and - a bit oddly - got my tailwheel endorsement in it, in the process.
The cockpit is pleasantly wide: and while it's not tremendously roomy - it's not an SR-22 - it's much more so than, say, a Bonanza. Seating is comfortable, and although this is a tailwheel airplane there is easy visibility over the nose - better than most nose wheel airplanes. Although there is no baggage area, there's quite a large parcel shelf behind the seats. An important preflight consideration: operated solo, the aircraft is out of C.G. limits unless ballast is placed in a compartment in the point of the nose.
The takeoff is standard tailwheel: lift the tail (being ready for the gyroscopic swing and the effect of any crosswind), and then ease the stick back when the plane is ready to fly. The SeaRey has a curious behavior here: when ready to fly it will spontaneously lower its nose quite noticeably, and this is its invitation to pull back the stick, when it will lift off briskly. The takeoff run is short, as with other LSAs.
The control feel is surprisingly heavy, with correspondingly gradual control response. I understand that the idea was to mimic the control feel of heavier aircraft, to be more familiar to pilots coming down in size to LSA from larger, faster machines.
Cruise is quite slow, about 75kt. Adding more power just makes more noise. The airplane requires the use of rudder, in a peculiar three-step pattern: first, when rolling into the turn, it needs rudder to keep the yaw string straight; then, when the stick is neutralized, the rudder should be, too. Then, as the nose starts to come around, it needs quite a lot of rudder once again. I can't say I've ever noticed this on other airplanes, although some gliders have a touch of it too.
The SeaRey is a slow, low-inertia, high-drag aircraft. Cut the power, and speed drops off fast: the glide is slow but steep. There's no need to slow down for the traffic pattern, and in fact it's best to stay at cruise power/speed in the pattern, to reduce the risk of being overrun from behind!
Landing a flying boat on water with the wheels down is very dangerous and can easily flip the plane over. The glass panel system in the one I flew had a voice warning system that would repeatedly ask me to confirm that this would be a water/land landing, to minimize that risk. At first, I found this voice annoying, but as I thought about it I came to appreciate it: if I selected land or water with the gear down or up, it happily agreed; if the reverse, it would warn me that things weren't right, and having that cross-check was reassuring.
I won't deny it: I struggled with wheel landings in the SeaRey. And yet, once I got them dialed in, I found I noticed the landing gear did a great job of absorbing the remaining sink rate. But, who wants to hear about my struggles learning to land a tailwheel airplane? What's different about the SeaRey is its ability to land on water - and land on water, we did. I was surprised - not sure why - to discover that the airplane makes a pretty good speedboat on the water, and was quite maneuverable on the surface. Three highlights I'll mention, about water operations. First, when doing a "short-water" landing, once the hull is on the water (still planing) you can give it full left rudder, lots of right stick (to keep the wings level) - and do a "hockey stop" on the water, sliding sideways! Next, to take off from that "short water", get the boat up on the plane going into wind, then run it around in a left turn to get back to the downwind side of the lake and, as you come around into wind again, go to full power and lift off. You can fly the airplane in an airborne circle right over the water circle you just did, spiraling up and away. Third, when doing a "glassy water" landing, the theory is to establish a steady (low) rate of descent until you touch down, but in practice the airplane will drop its nose in the last few feet, and if you don't catch it you will hit hard and bounce. My instructor described it to me as a "negative ground effect" and attributed it to a Bernoulli effect between the hull and the water; my own view is that the ground effect is reducing the downwash from the wing, which reduces the downforce on the tail. In any case, it's something to keep an eye on.
Structurally, the SeaRey is an ultralight-style airplane with a boat hull attached to the bottom. The structure is pinned aluminum tubing, with wire bracing. As a result, the preflight involves learning to avoid the many bracing wires, and requires checking a large number of wire swages and joint pins and bolts - all of which will need to be maintained. Also, after operation in salt water the airplane has to be washed down, both outside and inside the hull, to remove the salt. Overall, I was left with the impression that this is probably a fairly high-maintenance airframe.
Sure is a lot of fun, though!
The SeaRey is a flying boat, a speedboat that flies, a pure fun machine. It is a 2-seater, a Light Sport Aircraft. It is actually amphibious, with wheels that can be lowered for runway operations. The wheels don't retract, as such: they reposition, but remain in the breeze - in the photo you can make out the left wheel, tucked up under the inboard part of the wing struts for water operations.
As an airplane, the SeaRey has limited utility beyond local sightseeing: it is slow, it has limited useful load, and it doesn't have much baggage space. But, for sightseeing, it is a marvel: the windows slide back (independently on the left and right sides) for arm-in-the-breeze flying; visibility over the nose is excellent with the engine behind you; the wing almost never interferes with visibility both because it is swept and because it is a long way above; and the ability to land on water means that coastal sightseeing can be low, slow, and yet safe. I began my seaplane training in this airplane, and - a bit oddly - got my tailwheel endorsement in it, in the process.
The cockpit is pleasantly wide: and while it's not tremendously roomy - it's not an SR-22 - it's much more so than, say, a Bonanza. Seating is comfortable, and although this is a tailwheel airplane there is easy visibility over the nose - better than most nose wheel airplanes. Although there is no baggage area, there's quite a large parcel shelf behind the seats. An important preflight consideration: operated solo, the aircraft is out of C.G. limits unless ballast is placed in a compartment in the point of the nose.
The takeoff is standard tailwheel: lift the tail (being ready for the gyroscopic swing and the effect of any crosswind), and then ease the stick back when the plane is ready to fly. The SeaRey has a curious behavior here: when ready to fly it will spontaneously lower its nose quite noticeably, and this is its invitation to pull back the stick, when it will lift off briskly. The takeoff run is short, as with other LSAs.
The control feel is surprisingly heavy, with correspondingly gradual control response. I understand that the idea was to mimic the control feel of heavier aircraft, to be more familiar to pilots coming down in size to LSA from larger, faster machines.
Cruise is quite slow, about 75kt. Adding more power just makes more noise. The airplane requires the use of rudder, in a peculiar three-step pattern: first, when rolling into the turn, it needs rudder to keep the yaw string straight; then, when the stick is neutralized, the rudder should be, too. Then, as the nose starts to come around, it needs quite a lot of rudder once again. I can't say I've ever noticed this on other airplanes, although some gliders have a touch of it too.
The SeaRey is a slow, low-inertia, high-drag aircraft. Cut the power, and speed drops off fast: the glide is slow but steep. There's no need to slow down for the traffic pattern, and in fact it's best to stay at cruise power/speed in the pattern, to reduce the risk of being overrun from behind!
Landing a flying boat on water with the wheels down is very dangerous and can easily flip the plane over. The glass panel system in the one I flew had a voice warning system that would repeatedly ask me to confirm that this would be a water/land landing, to minimize that risk. At first, I found this voice annoying, but as I thought about it I came to appreciate it: if I selected land or water with the gear down or up, it happily agreed; if the reverse, it would warn me that things weren't right, and having that cross-check was reassuring.
I won't deny it: I struggled with wheel landings in the SeaRey. And yet, once I got them dialed in, I found I noticed the landing gear did a great job of absorbing the remaining sink rate. But, who wants to hear about my struggles learning to land a tailwheel airplane? What's different about the SeaRey is its ability to land on water - and land on water, we did. I was surprised - not sure why - to discover that the airplane makes a pretty good speedboat on the water, and was quite maneuverable on the surface. Three highlights I'll mention, about water operations. First, when doing a "short-water" landing, once the hull is on the water (still planing) you can give it full left rudder, lots of right stick (to keep the wings level) - and do a "hockey stop" on the water, sliding sideways! Next, to take off from that "short water", get the boat up on the plane going into wind, then run it around in a left turn to get back to the downwind side of the lake and, as you come around into wind again, go to full power and lift off. You can fly the airplane in an airborne circle right over the water circle you just did, spiraling up and away. Third, when doing a "glassy water" landing, the theory is to establish a steady (low) rate of descent until you touch down, but in practice the airplane will drop its nose in the last few feet, and if you don't catch it you will hit hard and bounce. My instructor described it to me as a "negative ground effect" and attributed it to a Bernoulli effect between the hull and the water; my own view is that the ground effect is reducing the downwash from the wing, which reduces the downforce on the tail. In any case, it's something to keep an eye on.
Structurally, the SeaRey is an ultralight-style airplane with a boat hull attached to the bottom. The structure is pinned aluminum tubing, with wire bracing. As a result, the preflight involves learning to avoid the many bracing wires, and requires checking a large number of wire swages and joint pins and bolts - all of which will need to be maintained. Also, after operation in salt water the airplane has to be washed down, both outside and inside the hull, to remove the salt. Overall, I was left with the impression that this is probably a fairly high-maintenance airframe.
Sure is a lot of fun, though!
Piper J3 Cub (L4 version)
Piper J3 Cub
This particular airplane is rebuilt from the parts of more than one aircraft. Technically, it is a 1946 Piper J3 Cub. However, the fuselage is from an L4 version (military spotter plane version), built in 1945, that flew in the South Pacific in World War II. I set out to get my tailwheel endorsement in this airplane, but wound up completing the endorsement in a SeaRey (just how things worked out).
The Piper Cub is one of those "iconic" aircraft, with a passionate fan base. I found it easy to fly, with very predictable handling and a docile stall. It invites playing around in the local area - which is probably just as well, because it really doesn't invite long-distance travel!
The airplane is flown from the back seat. Getting in and out of there is... challenging. There probably isn't an elegant way to do it.
From the pilot's seat, with a passenger (or, in my case, instructor) in the front seat, there is no view directly forward. On the ground, the nose would block the forward view anyway, and the airplane must be zig-zagged for visibility. A disconcerting detail: the instruments are in front of the front-seat passenger, which means that when you carry a passenger in this airplane, you fly entirely by feel! The brakes are operated with the heels: they're tucked in, almost under the passenger seat, and I found the heels of my shoes tended to catch in the seat, making my efforts to operate the brakes a bit hit-or-miss. Fortunately, on a grass field, the brakes aren't really needed for much.
Takeoff is conventional tailwheel: full power, push the (very long) stick forward to lift the tail - do it slowly to minimize the gyroscopic left swing tendency, and be ready to use the rudder - let the airplane accelerate (wait for it, wait for it, wait some more) and then ease the nose up. Rate of climb is... well, it does climb, but if there are trees at the end of the runway, you'll need a long runway. I'd guess it can manage about 400fpm.
In flight, the airplane is straightforward to fly. Handling-wise, it has a long control stick with plenty of leverage, and you do need to use the rudder, but not as much as in a sailplane. In a turn, you need to hold the nose up and add some power. That's about it. There's no need to worry about thinking miles ahead of this airplane; it's not going anywhere very fast. There's no need to slow it down to pattern speed: it cruises at 65 knots or so, which should work just fine in the pattern. There's no need to worry about speed building up in the descent: it won't.
Notably, the Cub can be flown with the entry door and window open: the "door" is the upper half of the fuselage side, and it folds over and down against the lower half; the window folds up against the bottom of the wing. When these are open, the airplane has practically nothing on the right hand side, creating a kind of half-open-ultralight experience. It's breezy, but not especially so. The left side does not open. The lower door panel on the right is your stall warning: when it lifts up from the folded-down position, you're about to stall. There isn't any other stall warning device.
This is a low-inertia, high-drag aircraft. Once you pull the power, it is going to slow down and come down at once - steeply, but slowly. If you have an engine failure on a cross-country flight, look down, because that's about where you're headed. There are no flaps - you don't need them - but if you want a super-steep approach you can slip the Cub all the way to the rudder stop.
This is a tailwheel airplane, so landing is either 3-point or a wheel landing. I found both pretty straightforward. And that's the thing about the Cub: it's straightforward. Land it on three, two, or even one wheel - straightforward. Run it along the runway on one wheel - straightforward. Stall it in a climbing turn - straightforward. The control feel is firm, and control response is predictable, all the time, at all speeds (maybe that's because there's really only one speed, for most purposes!). As far as building an honest airplane goes, Piper got that part right 70 years ago. It's not fast. It's not ergonomic. It's not a climber, nor a load-carrier. From a modern perspective, it's far from crashworthy, and visibility for the pilot - sitting in the back, behind the passenger and without a clear view of the instruments - is very, very poor. But I can understand why people are so fond of this airplane: it is honest and predictable, and you never have any doubt that the airplane will do what you expect.
This particular airplane is rebuilt from the parts of more than one aircraft. Technically, it is a 1946 Piper J3 Cub. However, the fuselage is from an L4 version (military spotter plane version), built in 1945, that flew in the South Pacific in World War II. I set out to get my tailwheel endorsement in this airplane, but wound up completing the endorsement in a SeaRey (just how things worked out).
The Piper Cub is one of those "iconic" aircraft, with a passionate fan base. I found it easy to fly, with very predictable handling and a docile stall. It invites playing around in the local area - which is probably just as well, because it really doesn't invite long-distance travel!
The airplane is flown from the back seat. Getting in and out of there is... challenging. There probably isn't an elegant way to do it.
From the pilot's seat, with a passenger (or, in my case, instructor) in the front seat, there is no view directly forward. On the ground, the nose would block the forward view anyway, and the airplane must be zig-zagged for visibility. A disconcerting detail: the instruments are in front of the front-seat passenger, which means that when you carry a passenger in this airplane, you fly entirely by feel! The brakes are operated with the heels: they're tucked in, almost under the passenger seat, and I found the heels of my shoes tended to catch in the seat, making my efforts to operate the brakes a bit hit-or-miss. Fortunately, on a grass field, the brakes aren't really needed for much.
Takeoff is conventional tailwheel: full power, push the (very long) stick forward to lift the tail - do it slowly to minimize the gyroscopic left swing tendency, and be ready to use the rudder - let the airplane accelerate (wait for it, wait for it, wait some more) and then ease the nose up. Rate of climb is... well, it does climb, but if there are trees at the end of the runway, you'll need a long runway. I'd guess it can manage about 400fpm.
In flight, the airplane is straightforward to fly. Handling-wise, it has a long control stick with plenty of leverage, and you do need to use the rudder, but not as much as in a sailplane. In a turn, you need to hold the nose up and add some power. That's about it. There's no need to worry about thinking miles ahead of this airplane; it's not going anywhere very fast. There's no need to slow it down to pattern speed: it cruises at 65 knots or so, which should work just fine in the pattern. There's no need to worry about speed building up in the descent: it won't.
Notably, the Cub can be flown with the entry door and window open: the "door" is the upper half of the fuselage side, and it folds over and down against the lower half; the window folds up against the bottom of the wing. When these are open, the airplane has practically nothing on the right hand side, creating a kind of half-open-ultralight experience. It's breezy, but not especially so. The left side does not open. The lower door panel on the right is your stall warning: when it lifts up from the folded-down position, you're about to stall. There isn't any other stall warning device.
This is a low-inertia, high-drag aircraft. Once you pull the power, it is going to slow down and come down at once - steeply, but slowly. If you have an engine failure on a cross-country flight, look down, because that's about where you're headed. There are no flaps - you don't need them - but if you want a super-steep approach you can slip the Cub all the way to the rudder stop.
This is a tailwheel airplane, so landing is either 3-point or a wheel landing. I found both pretty straightforward. And that's the thing about the Cub: it's straightforward. Land it on three, two, or even one wheel - straightforward. Run it along the runway on one wheel - straightforward. Stall it in a climbing turn - straightforward. The control feel is firm, and control response is predictable, all the time, at all speeds (maybe that's because there's really only one speed, for most purposes!). As far as building an honest airplane goes, Piper got that part right 70 years ago. It's not fast. It's not ergonomic. It's not a climber, nor a load-carrier. From a modern perspective, it's far from crashworthy, and visibility for the pilot - sitting in the back, behind the passenger and without a clear view of the instruments - is very, very poor. But I can understand why people are so fond of this airplane: it is honest and predictable, and you never have any doubt that the airplane will do what you expect.
Czech Aircraft Works SportCruiser
CZAW SportCruiser
Briefly sold as the PiperSport, the SportCruiser looks a bit like a Lancair - speedy and sleek - but this is an LSA so it isn't going to be speedy.
Although the pilot sits under an expansive canopy, visibility over the long nose is not good, and visibility down is seriously impeded by the pilot's position: the pilot's eyes are above a point not far forward of the flap hinge. Being a big fan of visibility I didn't think I'd like this airplane, but to my surprise, I liked it a lot.
The cockpit is so big it feels downright luxurious. There's space for bags, and you can use this machine to travel without feeling like you're cheating - in many other LSA's you find yourself cramming bags into corners that weren't really meant for them, but not with this one - although you do need to remember to keep an eye on the weight. This is a metal airplane, not carbon fiber, and with that very large (heavy) canopy, an autopilot and ballistic chute, the useful load will be around 450 lb - so with two adult men aboard, you're limited to about 15 gallons (3 hours) of fuel and no bags. In fact, the fuel tanks are huge, at 30 gallons, but when they're full there's 270 lb of useful load, so they should be thought of as "ferry tanks" for operation as a single-seater (with lots of capacity for bags). You can't just "fill 'er up and go" without giving some thought to the weights.
From the outside, the airplane looks like a flying sports car, but it doesn't look small. Like all low-wing airplanes, you have to scramble inelegantly onto the wing to get in. Open the large tilt-up canopy, though, and your reaction is likely to be similar to mine - wow! The cabin is huuuuuge! The SportCruiser's cabin is 46.5 inches wide - that's 4.5 inches wider than a Bonanza! - and the reclined seats put so much space between the windshield and the seat-back that the overall effect causes everyone to use the same word: "cavernous." There's a pretty good-size baggage area in the back, and two storage lockers (useful for spare oil, for example) in the wings!
The aircraft has a castoring nosewheel and differential braking; this means you have supreme maneuverability and can pivot around one wheel, but steering can be directionally imprecise, especially in a crosswind. Because the nosewheel is free-castoring, you can taxi the airplane into its parking space nose-first, then get out and spin it around on the spot by hand - a very neat, and useful trick.
Takeoff is straightforward, needing a lot less rudder than the Tecnams or the Evektor. Also, because of the castoring nosewheel there's no need to lift the nose early for a yaw-free takeoff run.
Despite its very low wing loading (10lb/sqft) the SportCruiser rides surprisingly well in light chop, but in more than that it will get tossed around about as is to be expected - and about like a Cessna 152, which has the same wing loading. It also requires much less active rudder use than the other LSAs I've tried to date, being very yaw-stable in flight; unfortunately, this also imposes a relatively low crosswind limit (10-12kt, depending on which version of the manual you read) because the airplane will weathervane on the ground. In crosswinds, I learned to use the downwind side of the runway, to allow for weathervaning as rudder authority declined at the end of the landing run!
The airplane stalls well into the 30-something range, which offers the ability to arrive on terra firma going very slowly if needed, a nice safety factor. Ballistic parachute is optional, and one of the examples I've flown was fitted with a glass cockpit and autopilot - serious practical utility, if you are okay with the weight limitations.
The tilt-forward canopy has no doorposts, no windshield frame, nothing to block the view, which is consequently spectacular above the horizon. You don't realize how much doorposts and canopy frames block the view, until you try a plane that doesn't have them! After being in this airplane, when you next sit into most other airplanes - especially high-wing machines with their low side windows and thick A-pillars - you feel like you just put blinders on. That said, the airplane's setup is not so good for showing a friend their home from the air. The seating position, low behind the engine, means they won't be able to see it over the nose; and the seat backs are well aft over the wide-chord wing, so they'll lose sight of home under the wing at a mile or so unless you get into a really steep turn and show it over the wingtip (not something most land-dwellers are going to appreciate). Visibility over the nose in the climb is nonexistent, so S-turns are required.
The downside to the large canopy, of course, is greenhouse-effect heating. Taxiing with the canopy open means having to hold it up, and it's quite heavy; after a short time I was looking for new ways to position my left arm to hold it. It could use a stronger spring, or (better) some kind of taxi latch to hold it slightly open. In flight, each seat has access to a large-diameter fresh air duct that helps to keep things cool, although the solar heating effect can overpower it in warm weather, and owners would do well to think about a good sunshade. The canopy latch is between the seats and activates hold-down catches on both sides of the canopy. There is an over-center mechanism to prevent the latch opening under load. As with many tilt-up canopies, having the canopy pop open in flight can be a serious situation: it creates substantial drag, may severely degrade climb performance (potentially dangerous shortly after takeoff), and is a major distraction. Making sure nothing is going to catch under the latch and "pop" it in flight is a safety-of-flight checklist item. There have been reports of pitch oscillations after canopy openings, which may be an aerodynamic effect, or may have been pilot distraction. If the canopy pops open at cruise speed there is reportedly a severe pitch-down effect. There have now been several SportCruiser accidents and incidents attributed to canopies popping open, including a bizarre incident in which the pilot (who had released his seat belt to reach into the baggage area) was ejected from the aircraft! I understand that people have taken to installing various secondary canopy-securing mechanisms on tilt-up canopies, as a result.
Despite my visibility issues (due to the seating position) I wound up, grudgingly, liking the SportCruiser quite a lot. The Tecnam Sierra is more of a pilot's airplane, with a clear edge in terms of handling, both on the ground (the nosewheel steering is much surer) and in the air (the control feel and harmony is just that bit better, and it has much better crosswind capability) but it's cramped with 2 aboard and the fit/finish just aren't there; while the SportCruiser is much more spacious, comfortable, and thought-through. The Tecnam is an airplane to fly solo and maneuver; the SportCruiser is an airplane to show off to your friends and take them places.
Although the SportCruiser seemed to be much better than the Tecnam Sierra in the detailed execution, I have some questions about the manufacturing consistency between these aircraft. I've flown three examples, and I found the three aircraft differed markedly. One was quite a spirited performer: with 2 people aboard I saw 1,000+fpm repeatably and 110kt or so at 5,200 RPM; while the other two offered much less performance, with 600-650 fpm climb and requiring 5,500 RPM in a shallow dive to reach 110kt. I don't really know what to make of the performance difference, except to say that it clearly wasn't about prop pitch (since one both climbed and ran better). The spirited one had poorly-coordinated controls, with light pitch forces and noticeably heavier roll forces. The less-spirited two had fairly well-balanced control forces that were a bit too light in both axes, especially at lower speeds where I felt that a bit more control feedback would have been welcome - the aircraft felt neutrally stable because so little control force was required. The aircraft with the heavier roll feel had an autopilot fitted and I may have been feeling the drag of the autopilot servo, but I think it was more than that. The speed and handling differences may reflect efforts at the factory to "fine tune" the aircraft, and/or possibly different cg positions - I don't know what accounts for them.
I should touch, for a moment, on the utility of these aircraft for "real aviating." This airplane is quite capable: it's very nearly as fast as a legacy C172 or PA-28 (over realistic distances the travel time will be within a few minutes), has better runway performance, and has a glass cockpit, autopilot, and parachute. You just can't throw a lot of bags in, and with two men aboard it can't match the larger airplanes for range. Because of the much lower "certification" cost for avionics, LSAs are available with electronics that would put many much larger airplanes to shame, and allows them, in many ways, to be more "serious" XC machines than their "big brothers."
Although the pilot sits under an expansive canopy, visibility over the long nose is not good, and visibility down is seriously impeded by the pilot's position: the pilot's eyes are above a point not far forward of the flap hinge. Being a big fan of visibility I didn't think I'd like this airplane, but to my surprise, I liked it a lot.
The cockpit is so big it feels downright luxurious. There's space for bags, and you can use this machine to travel without feeling like you're cheating - in many other LSA's you find yourself cramming bags into corners that weren't really meant for them, but not with this one - although you do need to remember to keep an eye on the weight. This is a metal airplane, not carbon fiber, and with that very large (heavy) canopy, an autopilot and ballistic chute, the useful load will be around 450 lb - so with two adult men aboard, you're limited to about 15 gallons (3 hours) of fuel and no bags. In fact, the fuel tanks are huge, at 30 gallons, but when they're full there's 270 lb of useful load, so they should be thought of as "ferry tanks" for operation as a single-seater (with lots of capacity for bags). You can't just "fill 'er up and go" without giving some thought to the weights.
From the outside, the airplane looks like a flying sports car, but it doesn't look small. Like all low-wing airplanes, you have to scramble inelegantly onto the wing to get in. Open the large tilt-up canopy, though, and your reaction is likely to be similar to mine - wow! The cabin is huuuuuge! The SportCruiser's cabin is 46.5 inches wide - that's 4.5 inches wider than a Bonanza! - and the reclined seats put so much space between the windshield and the seat-back that the overall effect causes everyone to use the same word: "cavernous." There's a pretty good-size baggage area in the back, and two storage lockers (useful for spare oil, for example) in the wings!
The aircraft has a castoring nosewheel and differential braking; this means you have supreme maneuverability and can pivot around one wheel, but steering can be directionally imprecise, especially in a crosswind. Because the nosewheel is free-castoring, you can taxi the airplane into its parking space nose-first, then get out and spin it around on the spot by hand - a very neat, and useful trick.
Takeoff is straightforward, needing a lot less rudder than the Tecnams or the Evektor. Also, because of the castoring nosewheel there's no need to lift the nose early for a yaw-free takeoff run.
Despite its very low wing loading (10lb/sqft) the SportCruiser rides surprisingly well in light chop, but in more than that it will get tossed around about as is to be expected - and about like a Cessna 152, which has the same wing loading. It also requires much less active rudder use than the other LSAs I've tried to date, being very yaw-stable in flight; unfortunately, this also imposes a relatively low crosswind limit (10-12kt, depending on which version of the manual you read) because the airplane will weathervane on the ground. In crosswinds, I learned to use the downwind side of the runway, to allow for weathervaning as rudder authority declined at the end of the landing run!
The airplane stalls well into the 30-something range, which offers the ability to arrive on terra firma going very slowly if needed, a nice safety factor. Ballistic parachute is optional, and one of the examples I've flown was fitted with a glass cockpit and autopilot - serious practical utility, if you are okay with the weight limitations.
The tilt-forward canopy has no doorposts, no windshield frame, nothing to block the view, which is consequently spectacular above the horizon. You don't realize how much doorposts and canopy frames block the view, until you try a plane that doesn't have them! After being in this airplane, when you next sit into most other airplanes - especially high-wing machines with their low side windows and thick A-pillars - you feel like you just put blinders on. That said, the airplane's setup is not so good for showing a friend their home from the air. The seating position, low behind the engine, means they won't be able to see it over the nose; and the seat backs are well aft over the wide-chord wing, so they'll lose sight of home under the wing at a mile or so unless you get into a really steep turn and show it over the wingtip (not something most land-dwellers are going to appreciate). Visibility over the nose in the climb is nonexistent, so S-turns are required.
The downside to the large canopy, of course, is greenhouse-effect heating. Taxiing with the canopy open means having to hold it up, and it's quite heavy; after a short time I was looking for new ways to position my left arm to hold it. It could use a stronger spring, or (better) some kind of taxi latch to hold it slightly open. In flight, each seat has access to a large-diameter fresh air duct that helps to keep things cool, although the solar heating effect can overpower it in warm weather, and owners would do well to think about a good sunshade. The canopy latch is between the seats and activates hold-down catches on both sides of the canopy. There is an over-center mechanism to prevent the latch opening under load. As with many tilt-up canopies, having the canopy pop open in flight can be a serious situation: it creates substantial drag, may severely degrade climb performance (potentially dangerous shortly after takeoff), and is a major distraction. Making sure nothing is going to catch under the latch and "pop" it in flight is a safety-of-flight checklist item. There have been reports of pitch oscillations after canopy openings, which may be an aerodynamic effect, or may have been pilot distraction. If the canopy pops open at cruise speed there is reportedly a severe pitch-down effect. There have now been several SportCruiser accidents and incidents attributed to canopies popping open, including a bizarre incident in which the pilot (who had released his seat belt to reach into the baggage area) was ejected from the aircraft! I understand that people have taken to installing various secondary canopy-securing mechanisms on tilt-up canopies, as a result.
Despite my visibility issues (due to the seating position) I wound up, grudgingly, liking the SportCruiser quite a lot. The Tecnam Sierra is more of a pilot's airplane, with a clear edge in terms of handling, both on the ground (the nosewheel steering is much surer) and in the air (the control feel and harmony is just that bit better, and it has much better crosswind capability) but it's cramped with 2 aboard and the fit/finish just aren't there; while the SportCruiser is much more spacious, comfortable, and thought-through. The Tecnam is an airplane to fly solo and maneuver; the SportCruiser is an airplane to show off to your friends and take them places.
Although the SportCruiser seemed to be much better than the Tecnam Sierra in the detailed execution, I have some questions about the manufacturing consistency between these aircraft. I've flown three examples, and I found the three aircraft differed markedly. One was quite a spirited performer: with 2 people aboard I saw 1,000+fpm repeatably and 110kt or so at 5,200 RPM; while the other two offered much less performance, with 600-650 fpm climb and requiring 5,500 RPM in a shallow dive to reach 110kt. I don't really know what to make of the performance difference, except to say that it clearly wasn't about prop pitch (since one both climbed and ran better). The spirited one had poorly-coordinated controls, with light pitch forces and noticeably heavier roll forces. The less-spirited two had fairly well-balanced control forces that were a bit too light in both axes, especially at lower speeds where I felt that a bit more control feedback would have been welcome - the aircraft felt neutrally stable because so little control force was required. The aircraft with the heavier roll feel had an autopilot fitted and I may have been feeling the drag of the autopilot servo, but I think it was more than that. The speed and handling differences may reflect efforts at the factory to "fine tune" the aircraft, and/or possibly different cg positions - I don't know what accounts for them.
I should touch, for a moment, on the utility of these aircraft for "real aviating." This airplane is quite capable: it's very nearly as fast as a legacy C172 or PA-28 (over realistic distances the travel time will be within a few minutes), has better runway performance, and has a glass cockpit, autopilot, and parachute. You just can't throw a lot of bags in, and with two men aboard it can't match the larger airplanes for range. Because of the much lower "certification" cost for avionics, LSAs are available with electronics that would put many much larger airplanes to shame, and allows them, in many ways, to be more "serious" XC machines than their "big brothers."
Tecnam Eaglet
Tecnam Eaglet
After liking the handling of the Sierra so much, I was expecting to really like the Eaglet: it's a newer design. Sadly, I was a disappointed: I liked the Eaglet's handling much less than the Sierra's. However, the Eaglet has much to recommend it, and it compares well to a Cessna 152, for example.
Indeed, my overall impression was that this is an airplane that will feel very comfortable for Cessna pilots. The layout is similar, of course, and its cabin is much more spacious (although getting in and out is downright difficult, and the C152's baggage area is bigger). Control harmony is good; the ride seems softer than the Sierra's at cruise speed but more "wallowy" at lower speeds - crisper than a Cessna, but still softer than I like. Visibility is Cessna-like also, i.e., adequate but not good: I literally couldn't see anything to the side unless I ducked my head down, because the top of the window was below eye level, but I could see almost straight down through the side window, and I found the visibility forward, over the downward-sloping nose was excellent - much better than a Cessna. In addition, again like the Cessna, the front door frame creates a large vertical obstruction at about the 10 o'clock direction; it's not a minor obstacle, either, especially in a left turn, where I found myself leaning forward and craning my neck to see around it. Overall, it's a perfectly functional little airplane, and in many ways a clear improvement on the C152, for example; but overall, for my taste, the Sierra is better.
The Eaglet, like the Sierra, looks from the outside like a "full size" airplane. Unlike the Sierra, its cabin is light, large and spacious. Once you're inside, the cabin dwarfs the front seat space of a C172 or even a Bonanza. However, getting in and out requires something of a contortionist act - there isn't quite enough room for an adult male to get in there without getting tangled between the doorframe, the seat, and the base of the stick. Best way to get in seems to be to face sideways, sit on the seat, slide in - all the way onto the passenger side - to get your legs into the cabin, then work them around the stick and slide back into your own seat. The passenger... just has to figure it out.
Taxi is trivial, with direct nose wheel steering. Takeoff is also very similar to the Sierra - lift the nose early and steer with the rudder for best results - but on climbout I noticed a distinctly "soggy" feel to the ailerons, reminiscent of a C-172 although not as bad. Above 80kt the airplane is very pleasant to fly, and seems to have a slightly smoother ride than the Sierra (which hits the bumps a bit harshly at high cruise), but below 80kt (which is still fast, more than twice the stall speed) the feel starts to become "mushy", with little stick feel, vagueness in the control response, and a bit of a wallowing sensation in turbulence. The "mushy" feel is more pronounced with flaps down, and I was warned that a slip with full flaps would produce pitch wandering as disturbed air passed over the tail - which it did.
Fuel is stored in the wings, and can be selected to flow from left, right or both tanks. I found that, with "both" selected (by turning on both fuel taps on the A pillars), the airplane did not drain the tanks symmetrically, and I had to actively manage the tanks. In this respect, Cessnas are easier to manage. Like most other Rotax-powered LSAs, the airplane has no carb heat control, and mixture is automatic, making engine management a matter of setting RPM, monitoring fuel state, and watching temperatures and pressures.
As with the Sierra, there are signs that Tecnam stopped short of thinking through the details. The elevator trim motor is vulnerable to rain. You cannot check the fuel tanks by climbing onto a fuselage step as on a Cessna, because there's no step; you need to find a step stool somewhere! Worst of all, you have to be careful putting things in the baggage area because the aileron control cables are exposed as they run vertically through the cabin back there, and you could conceivably wind up with something (a buckle, say) latching onto a cable and creating a control problem. This last "feature" struck me as, frankly, unacceptable. Oh, and the airplane has that same plastic interior Cessna used when our parents were young, and I just don't expect it will hold up for long.
The parking space spin-on-the-spot routine is the same as for the Sierra: lean on the tail and spin it. I do get a kick out of doing that!
Indeed, my overall impression was that this is an airplane that will feel very comfortable for Cessna pilots. The layout is similar, of course, and its cabin is much more spacious (although getting in and out is downright difficult, and the C152's baggage area is bigger). Control harmony is good; the ride seems softer than the Sierra's at cruise speed but more "wallowy" at lower speeds - crisper than a Cessna, but still softer than I like. Visibility is Cessna-like also, i.e., adequate but not good: I literally couldn't see anything to the side unless I ducked my head down, because the top of the window was below eye level, but I could see almost straight down through the side window, and I found the visibility forward, over the downward-sloping nose was excellent - much better than a Cessna. In addition, again like the Cessna, the front door frame creates a large vertical obstruction at about the 10 o'clock direction; it's not a minor obstacle, either, especially in a left turn, where I found myself leaning forward and craning my neck to see around it. Overall, it's a perfectly functional little airplane, and in many ways a clear improvement on the C152, for example; but overall, for my taste, the Sierra is better.
The Eaglet, like the Sierra, looks from the outside like a "full size" airplane. Unlike the Sierra, its cabin is light, large and spacious. Once you're inside, the cabin dwarfs the front seat space of a C172 or even a Bonanza. However, getting in and out requires something of a contortionist act - there isn't quite enough room for an adult male to get in there without getting tangled between the doorframe, the seat, and the base of the stick. Best way to get in seems to be to face sideways, sit on the seat, slide in - all the way onto the passenger side - to get your legs into the cabin, then work them around the stick and slide back into your own seat. The passenger... just has to figure it out.
Taxi is trivial, with direct nose wheel steering. Takeoff is also very similar to the Sierra - lift the nose early and steer with the rudder for best results - but on climbout I noticed a distinctly "soggy" feel to the ailerons, reminiscent of a C-172 although not as bad. Above 80kt the airplane is very pleasant to fly, and seems to have a slightly smoother ride than the Sierra (which hits the bumps a bit harshly at high cruise), but below 80kt (which is still fast, more than twice the stall speed) the feel starts to become "mushy", with little stick feel, vagueness in the control response, and a bit of a wallowing sensation in turbulence. The "mushy" feel is more pronounced with flaps down, and I was warned that a slip with full flaps would produce pitch wandering as disturbed air passed over the tail - which it did.
Fuel is stored in the wings, and can be selected to flow from left, right or both tanks. I found that, with "both" selected (by turning on both fuel taps on the A pillars), the airplane did not drain the tanks symmetrically, and I had to actively manage the tanks. In this respect, Cessnas are easier to manage. Like most other Rotax-powered LSAs, the airplane has no carb heat control, and mixture is automatic, making engine management a matter of setting RPM, monitoring fuel state, and watching temperatures and pressures.
As with the Sierra, there are signs that Tecnam stopped short of thinking through the details. The elevator trim motor is vulnerable to rain. You cannot check the fuel tanks by climbing onto a fuselage step as on a Cessna, because there's no step; you need to find a step stool somewhere! Worst of all, you have to be careful putting things in the baggage area because the aileron control cables are exposed as they run vertically through the cabin back there, and you could conceivably wind up with something (a buckle, say) latching onto a cable and creating a control problem. This last "feature" struck me as, frankly, unacceptable. Oh, and the airplane has that same plastic interior Cessna used when our parents were young, and I just don't expect it will hold up for long.
The parking space spin-on-the-spot routine is the same as for the Sierra: lean on the tail and spin it. I do get a kick out of doing that!
Tecnam Sierra
Tecnam Sierra
This is the Tecnam Sierra, one of the nicest-handling LSAs I've flown. But, I can't say I'm a fan: it feels cramped inside, and the fit & finish leave me uneasy. Overall I felt that this was a good "first cut" at a fun and very capable two-seater, but one that needed a fully-reworked version 2.0 (the Astore may be that version - I haven't flown it).
The Sierra is much more conventional-looking than the similarly-sized Evektor SportStar, and looks quite large from the outside, with the airplane not looking so small relative to the cockpit. Inside, it feels really small - perhaps because the cockpit area isn't so big relative to the airplane! The footwells are narrow, the cockpit sides seem higher, you sit closer to the panel, and the roof is quite a bit lower. The width is good - it has more elbow room than the front seats of a Cessna 172 or even a Bonanza! Still, it remains the only LSA I've flown that felt like a truly small airplane inside. There's a baggage area about the size of an airline overhead bin - adequate but not large - and a parcel shelf behind that.
Where this airplane is tops, though, is in the handling department. Although it feels cramped with 2 people inside, I enjoy flying it solo.
On takeoff roll, it needs plenty of right rudder at first, if not quite as much as on the SportStar. The trick is to lift the nose wheel with up elevator as soon as you apply power, so that you are steering with the rudder throughout the takeoff run; otherwise you tend to get a swerve at speed as you transition from nosewheel steering (rudder straight) to rudder steering (sizeable deflection needed). Liftoff is quick, especially solo; climb is elevator-like, with solo climb rates well above 1,000 fpm. To the Cessna/Piper pilot, the climb is unnaturally steep, and without care it's easy to wind up accelerating out of the white arc by holding the nose too low.
This has a MUCH more big-airplane feel than the Evektor; control forces are not as light, although responses remain both crisp and quick, and control harmony on the stick is about as good as I've come across (the rudder forces seem light, though). There's no feeling of "floating" in light chop; holding altitude and heading are easy, but at 110kt a thermally summer day starts to become a rough ride and the airplane feels like it's being "driven." Crosswind limits are an incredible 22kt, higher than a Bonanza's! The sliding canopy is both fun and functional on a warm day; you can taxi with it open (elbow over the side, silk scarf trailing in the breeze), which is a major plus, but you can also fly with it open, which is not only fun but means there's no such thing as an unlatched canopy emergency. It does get pretty windy, though, and you can get a back-eddy that could whip your glasses right off - and you don't want to be wearing a hat. The sliding canopy unfortunately means there is a substantial (thick) canopy frame positioned just above the pilot's eye-line: great for rollover protection, but it creates a surprisingly troublesome visual obstruction. As a result, visibility isn't nearly as good as one might expect for an aircraft of this layout. Still, canopy frame aside, few low-wing airplanes offer better downward visibility (it's comparable to a DA-40 and probably similar to an RV-12), because the seats are located close to the leading edge. Visibility over the nose is also excellent; I can't imagine it's possible to do much better while still having an engine up front.
The instructor recommended keeping the speed up when landing with full flaps, which arguably partially negates the whole point of full flaps - but he was right; the pitch handling becomes a bit weird if you get slow with full flaps. It may be better to think about full flaps as a dive brake rather than a way to lower the stall speed. With this one exception, this airplane was completely predictable. And any normal runway is going to be much, much longer than you need anyway.
On landing, the routine is to hold the nosewheel off the ground until the airplane slows to about walking speed, for the same reason as on the takeoff roll - in any crosswind there will be a significant deflection of the rudder (and, therefore, nosewheel) and if the nosewheel comes down it will cause an exciting direction change!
On arriving at transient parking, just pull into the space, shut down, climb out, lean on the tail, and spin the plane on the spot to face out, ready for departure - this trick not only eliminates all the tow-bar jostling, it tends to draw a crowd!
As I started to look at the details, though, I became a lot less happy with this airplane. A big negative factor is the lightweight plastic interior, reminiscent of the worst of 1970s (or earlier) Wichita. Practically as soon as it's out of the showroom, it seems, the plastic panels start to pop loose here and there, so that there is almost inevitably something that rattles and/or buzzes when the engine is running; and then the plastic starts to turn yellow, and I have to think that cracking can't be far behind. This product is priced like a Ferrari: buyers expect better - faux leather, cloth, or even bare metal panels would be better. This is one of a few issues that make me wonder about the care and attention that went into this design (surprising, since Tecnam is a fairly good-sized company). For example, the elevator trim motor gets wet in the rain, which causes it to fail; this needs to be redesigned. The sliding canopy doesn't seal at all, either front (at the windshield) or rear (sliding over the aft fuselage), when closed; as a result, there is a considerable breeze and wind noise at all times, and when it rains, the interior gets wet (water puddled in the leather seats - that just shouldn't happen). The tailcone is held in place by screws, and aligned only by the screw holes; I've seen one where, as the screw holes wore, the tailcone "drifted" to the side and interfered with the elevator - that just shouldn't happen. I wound up with the kind of sense I get from one of those British or Italian sports cars from another era: fun to drive, but you suspect that ownership would bring more frustrations than it should.
The Sierra is much more conventional-looking than the similarly-sized Evektor SportStar, and looks quite large from the outside, with the airplane not looking so small relative to the cockpit. Inside, it feels really small - perhaps because the cockpit area isn't so big relative to the airplane! The footwells are narrow, the cockpit sides seem higher, you sit closer to the panel, and the roof is quite a bit lower. The width is good - it has more elbow room than the front seats of a Cessna 172 or even a Bonanza! Still, it remains the only LSA I've flown that felt like a truly small airplane inside. There's a baggage area about the size of an airline overhead bin - adequate but not large - and a parcel shelf behind that.
Where this airplane is tops, though, is in the handling department. Although it feels cramped with 2 people inside, I enjoy flying it solo.
On takeoff roll, it needs plenty of right rudder at first, if not quite as much as on the SportStar. The trick is to lift the nose wheel with up elevator as soon as you apply power, so that you are steering with the rudder throughout the takeoff run; otherwise you tend to get a swerve at speed as you transition from nosewheel steering (rudder straight) to rudder steering (sizeable deflection needed). Liftoff is quick, especially solo; climb is elevator-like, with solo climb rates well above 1,000 fpm. To the Cessna/Piper pilot, the climb is unnaturally steep, and without care it's easy to wind up accelerating out of the white arc by holding the nose too low.
This has a MUCH more big-airplane feel than the Evektor; control forces are not as light, although responses remain both crisp and quick, and control harmony on the stick is about as good as I've come across (the rudder forces seem light, though). There's no feeling of "floating" in light chop; holding altitude and heading are easy, but at 110kt a thermally summer day starts to become a rough ride and the airplane feels like it's being "driven." Crosswind limits are an incredible 22kt, higher than a Bonanza's! The sliding canopy is both fun and functional on a warm day; you can taxi with it open (elbow over the side, silk scarf trailing in the breeze), which is a major plus, but you can also fly with it open, which is not only fun but means there's no such thing as an unlatched canopy emergency. It does get pretty windy, though, and you can get a back-eddy that could whip your glasses right off - and you don't want to be wearing a hat. The sliding canopy unfortunately means there is a substantial (thick) canopy frame positioned just above the pilot's eye-line: great for rollover protection, but it creates a surprisingly troublesome visual obstruction. As a result, visibility isn't nearly as good as one might expect for an aircraft of this layout. Still, canopy frame aside, few low-wing airplanes offer better downward visibility (it's comparable to a DA-40 and probably similar to an RV-12), because the seats are located close to the leading edge. Visibility over the nose is also excellent; I can't imagine it's possible to do much better while still having an engine up front.
The instructor recommended keeping the speed up when landing with full flaps, which arguably partially negates the whole point of full flaps - but he was right; the pitch handling becomes a bit weird if you get slow with full flaps. It may be better to think about full flaps as a dive brake rather than a way to lower the stall speed. With this one exception, this airplane was completely predictable. And any normal runway is going to be much, much longer than you need anyway.
On landing, the routine is to hold the nosewheel off the ground until the airplane slows to about walking speed, for the same reason as on the takeoff roll - in any crosswind there will be a significant deflection of the rudder (and, therefore, nosewheel) and if the nosewheel comes down it will cause an exciting direction change!
On arriving at transient parking, just pull into the space, shut down, climb out, lean on the tail, and spin the plane on the spot to face out, ready for departure - this trick not only eliminates all the tow-bar jostling, it tends to draw a crowd!
As I started to look at the details, though, I became a lot less happy with this airplane. A big negative factor is the lightweight plastic interior, reminiscent of the worst of 1970s (or earlier) Wichita. Practically as soon as it's out of the showroom, it seems, the plastic panels start to pop loose here and there, so that there is almost inevitably something that rattles and/or buzzes when the engine is running; and then the plastic starts to turn yellow, and I have to think that cracking can't be far behind. This product is priced like a Ferrari: buyers expect better - faux leather, cloth, or even bare metal panels would be better. This is one of a few issues that make me wonder about the care and attention that went into this design (surprising, since Tecnam is a fairly good-sized company). For example, the elevator trim motor gets wet in the rain, which causes it to fail; this needs to be redesigned. The sliding canopy doesn't seal at all, either front (at the windshield) or rear (sliding over the aft fuselage), when closed; as a result, there is a considerable breeze and wind noise at all times, and when it rains, the interior gets wet (water puddled in the leather seats - that just shouldn't happen). The tailcone is held in place by screws, and aligned only by the screw holes; I've seen one where, as the screw holes wore, the tailcone "drifted" to the side and interfered with the elevator - that just shouldn't happen. I wound up with the kind of sense I get from one of those British or Italian sports cars from another era: fun to drive, but you suspect that ownership would bring more frustrations than it should.
Evektor SportStar
Evektor SportStar
One of the flight schools on Long Island decided to introduce some new Light Sport Aircraft into their fleet. Having heard so much about them, I had to go take a look!
This is the Evektor SportStar. It's a little funny-looking, with that bubble canopy on there. From outside it almost looks like a large model airplane with people sitting on top! I've heard both enthusiastic and rather disparaging reactions to the aircraft's appearance; clearly it's a matter of personal taste. From inside, it's truly spacious, with a big baggage area and lots of elbow room. It does have a sitting-on-top-of-the-airplane feel - but the result is tremendous, like-you've-never-seen visibility. This airplane is so small you can skip the whole grunting-shoving routine when parking it - just pull into the parking space nose-first until the wings are over the tiedowns, shut down, climb out, lean gently on the tail and spin her around on the spot!
On takeoff roll you need to use a LOT of right rudder at first, or the little 100hp engine will whirl the even littler airplane to the left. I'd read about this sort of thing in piston-engined fighter planes and the sort - well, trust me, in a small enough airplane, 100hp will torque you right around! Liftoff is quick; climb is elevator-like, and solo she'll put any of the "spam can" aircraft to shame, climbing at well over 1,000 fpm.
In flight, handling is light, quick, and crisp, and the combination makes the pilot feel like this is a much more powerful machine than it actually is. It also makes the pilot feel like maneuvering just for fun. It's not aerobatic, but you find yourself wishing it were - even if you don't like aerobatics! And, it's actually not that powerful: in steep turns I found the airplane bled off airspeed quickly and needed me to add quite a lot of power.
At first, the airplane was a lot of fun, but a number of things put me off it after a bit. First, there was the amount of rudder needed at the start of the takeoff roll - I wondered if the airplane would be controllable in a left crosswind. Second, it felt very "light" in any kind of turbulence; it was surprisingly hard work to hold heading and, especially, altitude, and even light chop meant I had to pay close attention. Third, the canopy latch failed during one of my flights, and the drag generated by this was enough that we started to lose altitude very quickly, until one of us held the canopy down while the other flew to land at a nearby airport; if I had been flying solo, that could have ended in an off-airport landing (at best). I understand a new canopy latch design is now in use, but it seemed to me that the consequences of a latch failure were a bit extreme. Also, in slow flight I found the airplane lost aileron authority almost completely when approaching the stall, and aileron action showed some tendency to reverse early in the stall, with the lowered aileron deepening the stall on that side and causing that wing to drop, rather than rise. I was disappointed by this, which should not happen in a modern design.
In calm weather, this airplane is an absolute blast! In the end, though, I was left not entirely happy by the way the airplane handled turbulence, or stalls, along with a queasy feeling about build quality after the latch incident. The little airplane just wasn't really something I would want to use regularly for serious aviating.
This is the Evektor SportStar. It's a little funny-looking, with that bubble canopy on there. From outside it almost looks like a large model airplane with people sitting on top! I've heard both enthusiastic and rather disparaging reactions to the aircraft's appearance; clearly it's a matter of personal taste. From inside, it's truly spacious, with a big baggage area and lots of elbow room. It does have a sitting-on-top-of-the-airplane feel - but the result is tremendous, like-you've-never-seen visibility. This airplane is so small you can skip the whole grunting-shoving routine when parking it - just pull into the parking space nose-first until the wings are over the tiedowns, shut down, climb out, lean gently on the tail and spin her around on the spot!
On takeoff roll you need to use a LOT of right rudder at first, or the little 100hp engine will whirl the even littler airplane to the left. I'd read about this sort of thing in piston-engined fighter planes and the sort - well, trust me, in a small enough airplane, 100hp will torque you right around! Liftoff is quick; climb is elevator-like, and solo she'll put any of the "spam can" aircraft to shame, climbing at well over 1,000 fpm.
In flight, handling is light, quick, and crisp, and the combination makes the pilot feel like this is a much more powerful machine than it actually is. It also makes the pilot feel like maneuvering just for fun. It's not aerobatic, but you find yourself wishing it were - even if you don't like aerobatics! And, it's actually not that powerful: in steep turns I found the airplane bled off airspeed quickly and needed me to add quite a lot of power.
At first, the airplane was a lot of fun, but a number of things put me off it after a bit. First, there was the amount of rudder needed at the start of the takeoff roll - I wondered if the airplane would be controllable in a left crosswind. Second, it felt very "light" in any kind of turbulence; it was surprisingly hard work to hold heading and, especially, altitude, and even light chop meant I had to pay close attention. Third, the canopy latch failed during one of my flights, and the drag generated by this was enough that we started to lose altitude very quickly, until one of us held the canopy down while the other flew to land at a nearby airport; if I had been flying solo, that could have ended in an off-airport landing (at best). I understand a new canopy latch design is now in use, but it seemed to me that the consequences of a latch failure were a bit extreme. Also, in slow flight I found the airplane lost aileron authority almost completely when approaching the stall, and aileron action showed some tendency to reverse early in the stall, with the lowered aileron deepening the stall on that side and causing that wing to drop, rather than rise. I was disappointed by this, which should not happen in a modern design.
In calm weather, this airplane is an absolute blast! In the end, though, I was left not entirely happy by the way the airplane handled turbulence, or stalls, along with a queasy feeling about build quality after the latch incident. The little airplane just wasn't really something I would want to use regularly for serious aviating.
Not just glass - Diamond! (Diamond DA-40)
Diamond DA-40
I discovered that here in New York I could check out a glass cockpit, glass aircraft. This is a Diamond DA-40, a 4-seater, the modern equivalent of a Cessna 172-type aircraft. The aircraft really is made of glass, although it's glass reinforced plastic, or "fiberglass."
I'll get it off my chest right now: despite its sailplane heritage and fiberglass-enabled compound curves, the DA-40 looks ugly to me. It just does. Sorry, Diamond.
The cockpit instruments mostly appear on two flat-panel displays instead of using the old-style gauges - thus a "glass cockpit." While a licensed pilot probably could just jump in and use a glass cockpit, it's worth taking time to learn to use it properly, largely because it's got so many capabilities and you have to learn where to find them - it's a bit like trying to learn Microsoft Excel while flying the plane!
Handling-wise, the DA-40's handling is much more crisp than that of the old Cessnas and Pipers, in my opinion, although I found the controls grew a little heavy in cruise, especially in roll: once up to speed and enroute, you don't want to rock the wings just for the heck of it, because it's work. As a result, the Tiger and the Debonair remain the best-handling four-seat aircraft I've flown.
One thing that's striking is that the lift slope of that high aspect ratio wing is much steeper than in the older designs, so the aircraft appears to "levitate" on takeoff in an almost level attitude, and pitch attitude isn't especially helpful for airspeed control in the landing approach - you need the ASI.
The visibility from the DA-40 is superb, with the pilot sitting high over the nose and almost in line with the wing leading edge. The safety record of Diamond airplanes is enviable. And of course it's new, so you don't have to apologize to passengers for the condition of the aircraft. The passengers even get their own separate entry door at the back, instead of climbing in through the front door and over the seats, as in the Cessna/Piper days. I enjoyed the DA-40.
I'll get it off my chest right now: despite its sailplane heritage and fiberglass-enabled compound curves, the DA-40 looks ugly to me. It just does. Sorry, Diamond.
The cockpit instruments mostly appear on two flat-panel displays instead of using the old-style gauges - thus a "glass cockpit." While a licensed pilot probably could just jump in and use a glass cockpit, it's worth taking time to learn to use it properly, largely because it's got so many capabilities and you have to learn where to find them - it's a bit like trying to learn Microsoft Excel while flying the plane!
Handling-wise, the DA-40's handling is much more crisp than that of the old Cessnas and Pipers, in my opinion, although I found the controls grew a little heavy in cruise, especially in roll: once up to speed and enroute, you don't want to rock the wings just for the heck of it, because it's work. As a result, the Tiger and the Debonair remain the best-handling four-seat aircraft I've flown.
One thing that's striking is that the lift slope of that high aspect ratio wing is much steeper than in the older designs, so the aircraft appears to "levitate" on takeoff in an almost level attitude, and pitch attitude isn't especially helpful for airspeed control in the landing approach - you need the ASI.
The visibility from the DA-40 is superb, with the pilot sitting high over the nose and almost in line with the wing leading edge. The safety record of Diamond airplanes is enviable. And of course it's new, so you don't have to apologize to passengers for the condition of the aircraft. The passengers even get their own separate entry door at the back, instead of climbing in through the front door and over the seats, as in the Cessna/Piper days. I enjoyed the DA-40.
Wow! - Falco
Falco
I first read about the Falco when I was about 15. It sounded to me like the best airplane in the world. That may be close to the truth.
A friend owns one, and he was good enough to let me check out in it and take it on a cross-country or two, with my longest run in it a multi-leg trip to Northern California. The Falco looks like a Ferrari with wings. That's about how it handles, too. It reacts - fast - when you move the stick. The controls are well-harmonized, but sen-si-tive! Unlike the Cessna or Piper, you do not want to manhandle the controls in this airplane; you barely want to move them at all. Test pilots describe the handling as "fighter-like," and in fact, a (larger) derivative of the airplane, the SF-260, actually is a light fighter plane!
I loved it! I had been concerned that something as sensitive as this might be tricky to fly, but I found it's actually easier to fly something that does exactly what you want it to do, and does it right away. I haven't done a lot of instrument flying in it - people say that's harder - but certainly I feel much happier with a quick-responding aircraft than with one where I wonder if the controls are connected!
The Falco, like the Debonair, is an airplane with a relatively low power loading, and high wing loading, and it has to be flown very differently to the lightly-loaded Cessnas I'd flown before (or the LSAs I flew later). You need to be on top of the speeds, especially in the landing approach. There are more systems to learn about and monitor. The wing won't "mush" - it just stops flying. And, if you lose the engine in flight, you're going to be touching down off-airport at considerable speed, which is not especially associated with a good outcome. In that regard, one thing I wasn't altogether keen on in the Falco was the location of the fuel tanks: one between the engine and the instrument panel, and one behind the baggage area. Bottom line: this is a high-performance machine, which is mostly a great thing, but also involves some new risks you have to learn about and either manage or accept.
A friend owns one, and he was good enough to let me check out in it and take it on a cross-country or two, with my longest run in it a multi-leg trip to Northern California. The Falco looks like a Ferrari with wings. That's about how it handles, too. It reacts - fast - when you move the stick. The controls are well-harmonized, but sen-si-tive! Unlike the Cessna or Piper, you do not want to manhandle the controls in this airplane; you barely want to move them at all. Test pilots describe the handling as "fighter-like," and in fact, a (larger) derivative of the airplane, the SF-260, actually is a light fighter plane!
I loved it! I had been concerned that something as sensitive as this might be tricky to fly, but I found it's actually easier to fly something that does exactly what you want it to do, and does it right away. I haven't done a lot of instrument flying in it - people say that's harder - but certainly I feel much happier with a quick-responding aircraft than with one where I wonder if the controls are connected!
The Falco, like the Debonair, is an airplane with a relatively low power loading, and high wing loading, and it has to be flown very differently to the lightly-loaded Cessnas I'd flown before (or the LSAs I flew later). You need to be on top of the speeds, especially in the landing approach. There are more systems to learn about and monitor. The wing won't "mush" - it just stops flying. And, if you lose the engine in flight, you're going to be touching down off-airport at considerable speed, which is not especially associated with a good outcome. In that regard, one thing I wasn't altogether keen on in the Falco was the location of the fuel tanks: one between the engine and the instrument panel, and one behind the baggage area. Bottom line: this is a high-performance machine, which is mostly a great thing, but also involves some new risks you have to learn about and either manage or accept.
 Harris Ranch fly-in truck stop |
 Falco instrument panel |
 Canadian Rockies |
 Hanging Glacier Lake, Canadian Rockies |
 Long Beach, CA (see the Queen Mary?) |
 Newport Beach, CA |
Fouga Magister
Fouga Magister
Well, if we're moving up the performance chain, why stop at the Beechcraft? This is a Fouga Magister, a jet trainer and light ground attack fighter from France. A friend of mine bought it, and we took it to Canada and back on a nice long cross-country! Unfortunately, since it has two turbine engines, I don't have the appropriate pilot ratings to log time in it. So I got to try the controls and fly some rolls but otherwise it was just a great experience to have had. It was sort of the opposite to the Katana: insanely fast, very easy and quick to roll, but quite heavy in pitch.
It was also an instructive experience from a fuel management and flight planning perspective. This airplane goes three times as fast as the planes I usually fly. So, what sounds to me like a long range - and is - gets covered very quickly, which means there isn't a lot of time to think or to re-plan. If something comes up that requires a change of plans, you don't have much time: that alternate airport is sliding away behind you by 1 mile every 10 seconds, and your fuel is disappearing so fast I swore I could actually see the fuel gauge moving! In a jet, you need to have done all your thinking and alternate planning before you light the fires!
The other thing I learned, directly and almost viscerally, was that a jet needs to be flown high, and fast. In a piston airplane, fuel consumption is pretty directly related to power output, and the ratio is fairly constant with altitude and throttle setting. Flying high gains you some speed and efficiency, but not a huge amount; and if you do fly high, you'll want to throttle back quite a long way from your destination and do a long partial-power descent, using gravity for speed. Not in a jet. In a jet, you want to get high and stay high, all the way to your destination, until you reach a point where you have to go to flight idle power and throw out the spoilers to get down! Why? Well, the Fouga burns about 120 gallons/hour cruising at nearly 6 miles/minute at 25,000 ft; and it burns 95 gallons/hour sitting on the taxiway. At low altitude in flight, it's burning something like 200 gallons/hour, and going slower. The efficiency difference is staggering - and if you don't pay attention to it, your cross-country planning will go off the rails when you find you don't have nearly as much range as you thought you would! So, the jet is nice for speed and reliability, but it isn't nearly as flexible a power unit as a piston engine - something I had not realized before flying the Fouga.
It was also an instructive experience from a fuel management and flight planning perspective. This airplane goes three times as fast as the planes I usually fly. So, what sounds to me like a long range - and is - gets covered very quickly, which means there isn't a lot of time to think or to re-plan. If something comes up that requires a change of plans, you don't have much time: that alternate airport is sliding away behind you by 1 mile every 10 seconds, and your fuel is disappearing so fast I swore I could actually see the fuel gauge moving! In a jet, you need to have done all your thinking and alternate planning before you light the fires!
The other thing I learned, directly and almost viscerally, was that a jet needs to be flown high, and fast. In a piston airplane, fuel consumption is pretty directly related to power output, and the ratio is fairly constant with altitude and throttle setting. Flying high gains you some speed and efficiency, but not a huge amount; and if you do fly high, you'll want to throttle back quite a long way from your destination and do a long partial-power descent, using gravity for speed. Not in a jet. In a jet, you want to get high and stay high, all the way to your destination, until you reach a point where you have to go to flight idle power and throw out the spoilers to get down! Why? Well, the Fouga burns about 120 gallons/hour cruising at nearly 6 miles/minute at 25,000 ft; and it burns 95 gallons/hour sitting on the taxiway. At low altitude in flight, it's burning something like 200 gallons/hour, and going slower. The efficiency difference is staggering - and if you don't pay attention to it, your cross-country planning will go off the rails when you find you don't have nearly as much range as you thought you would! So, the jet is nice for speed and reliability, but it isn't nearly as flexible a power unit as a piston engine - something I had not realized before flying the Fouga.
Instrument rating and high performance - Beechcraft Debonair
Beechcraft Debonair
The whole point of an instrument rating is to use airplanes as transportation. This calls for something faster than the Cessna. Enter... the Beechcraft Debonair, which is basically identical to the better-known Bonanza. The FAA considers this both a "high-performance aircraft" and a "complex aircraft," so I received endorsements for both as a result of flying this machine.
On my first walk-around I noticed that everything about the aircraft seemed "solid," as if built for military service. There was no slop in the controls, which felt solid and smooth - probably pushrods and ball bearings!
For such a big machine, it wasn't at all spacious inside, to my surprise, and I did not care for the complicated fuel system, which was an exception to the otherwise beautiful engineering.
This airplane was an eye-opener. It was fast, around 165 knots (190 mph), and it handled like you'd want an airplane to handle; someone at Beech knew what they were doing in that department.
Stalls were interesting, compared to the Cessnas and Pipers I knew, because the recovery procedure for a simple stall was to add power and hold the nose above the horizon while the aircraft powered out of the stall!
The airplane called for aggressiveness if you lost an engine in the airport traffic pattern, as I discovered when we simulated that, because best glide speed was higher than the speed for downwind in the traffic pattern, so we needed to dive for speed after losing the engine, which left us much lower than I'd have thought, very quickly. Best to fly the downwind fairly close in!
Flying this airplane spoiled me for lesser airplanes forever! Gee, I thought, for the price of a fairly nice Tiger one might be able to acquire an older Debonair... The photo was taken inside the hangar. I should have taken one outside. Pretty aircraft!
On my first walk-around I noticed that everything about the aircraft seemed "solid," as if built for military service. There was no slop in the controls, which felt solid and smooth - probably pushrods and ball bearings!
For such a big machine, it wasn't at all spacious inside, to my surprise, and I did not care for the complicated fuel system, which was an exception to the otherwise beautiful engineering.
This airplane was an eye-opener. It was fast, around 165 knots (190 mph), and it handled like you'd want an airplane to handle; someone at Beech knew what they were doing in that department.
Stalls were interesting, compared to the Cessnas and Pipers I knew, because the recovery procedure for a simple stall was to add power and hold the nose above the horizon while the aircraft powered out of the stall!
The airplane called for aggressiveness if you lost an engine in the airport traffic pattern, as I discovered when we simulated that, because best glide speed was higher than the speed for downwind in the traffic pattern, so we needed to dive for speed after losing the engine, which left us much lower than I'd have thought, very quickly. Best to fly the downwind fairly close in!
Flying this airplane spoiled me for lesser airplanes forever! Gee, I thought, for the price of a fairly nice Tiger one might be able to acquire an older Debonair... The photo was taken inside the hangar. I should have taken one outside. Pretty aircraft!
Instrument rating - Cessna 172
Cessna 172
While in San Diego I finally got around to my instrument rating. Since the club had a fleet of Cessna 172s, I trained in them. These airplanes are very popular; I would guess that a healthy majority of the world's fixed-wing pilots have flown one. They can haul 4 people and some bags in no great hurry, at relatively modest cost, and the folks in the back actually have decent legroom.
Personally, I have never liked the 172, and probably never will. Despite having an uncomfortably narrow cabin only 40 inches wide, they're not speed machines - the Tiger, which looks about as sleek as a Yugo, will outrun a C-172 by 15-20 knots. Cessna's engineers didn't see any reason a pilot should be able to see forward. Visibility to the side is even worse: my eyes are above the top of the side window, so I'm looking at the inside of the wing root, and have to duck to see out. I don't like the poor - atrocious - visibility, I don't care for the inevitably cracked plastic interior, and in particular I hate the controls. Aileron effectiveness in these airplanes is so poor, they sometimes scare me as I wonder if the yoke is still connected! If you've ever driven an old car, a big boat from before the days of rack-and-pinion steering, you will have a sense for what I'm talking about. Honestly, these machines do everything they can to bury the joy of flight: you can't see, you have minimum control, and you're not going anywhere. But, they are tough, and can survive the rigors of flight training, which makes them popular with flight schools (and thus with new pilots). I got my instrument ticket in this one.
Personally, I have never liked the 172, and probably never will. Despite having an uncomfortably narrow cabin only 40 inches wide, they're not speed machines - the Tiger, which looks about as sleek as a Yugo, will outrun a C-172 by 15-20 knots. Cessna's engineers didn't see any reason a pilot should be able to see forward. Visibility to the side is even worse: my eyes are above the top of the side window, so I'm looking at the inside of the wing root, and have to duck to see out. I don't like the poor - atrocious - visibility, I don't care for the inevitably cracked plastic interior, and in particular I hate the controls. Aileron effectiveness in these airplanes is so poor, they sometimes scare me as I wonder if the yoke is still connected! If you've ever driven an old car, a big boat from before the days of rack-and-pinion steering, you will have a sense for what I'm talking about. Honestly, these machines do everything they can to bury the joy of flight: you can't see, you have minimum control, and you're not going anywhere. But, they are tough, and can survive the rigors of flight training, which makes them popular with flight schools (and thus with new pilots). I got my instrument ticket in this one.
Grumman Tiger
Tiger (publicity shot)
When I moved to San Diego, the club there had a Grumman Tiger, so I checked out in it. I loved it! That particular one had seen better days, but it had light, crisp handling, it was a good 15 knots faster than the Cherokee on the same power, it had remarkably good forward visibility in the cruise, it had the fighter-pilot-style sliding canopy which - how cool is this? - you could open in flight!
Also, the Tiger is "bonded" (i.e., glued) together, not riveted, which makes for a much nicer-looking surface finish than you get on a Cessna or a Piper.
I flew it only once, but I thought "if I ever buy a plane, this may be what I'm looking for..."
I didn't get a photo of it, so here's a publicity shot. They manufactured them for a time in the early 2000s, so you can buy one fairly new, but they're not cheap, I'm afraid.
Also, the Tiger is "bonded" (i.e., glued) together, not riveted, which makes for a much nicer-looking surface finish than you get on a Cessna or a Piper.
I flew it only once, but I thought "if I ever buy a plane, this may be what I'm looking for..."
I didn't get a photo of it, so here's a publicity shot. They manufactured them for a time in the early 2000s, so you can buy one fairly new, but they're not cheap, I'm afraid.
Diamond DA-20 Katana
DA-20 Katana (publicity shot)
I checked out in one of these at El Monte airport in 1994. It was the cutest little training aircraft I'd ever seen! It had an 80hp Rotax engine that sounded incredibly smooth compared to the familiar Lycomings. The visibility was fabulous, the interiors were new and clean, it had a stick instead of a yoke, like a proper airplane should... Unfortunately, the little Rotax wasn't big enough, and the airplane was relatively heavy, so useful load was very limited; and, like most trainers, it wasn't fast. (Diamond later switched to a bigger, Continental motor and solved both problems.) I found the control forces were unbalanced, with light pitch and far-too-heavy roll. And I couldn't help wondering what would happen if the rear-hinged canopy should come unlatched in flight (presumably, something really, really bad!) Less dramatic, but of everyday importance, was the fact that the aft-hinged canopy cannot be left "cracked" open to taxi, as the propwash would be right into the occupants' faces and would tend to blow the canopy open - a real drawback in hot climates like SoCal. So, I liked the little airplane, but it had its flaws. (I never got a picture of it; this is a publicity shot.)
Piper PA-28 Cherokee
Piper Cherokee, Prescott AZ
After settling in to California, I resumed flying and checked out in this Piper Cherokee - and more or less abandoned Cessnas, rarely flying them again until I worked on my instrument rating (when the easy availability of the Cessna 172s won the day). It would be easy to prefer the Cessna 172: the Cessna has two doors, the Cherokee only one (on the passenger side); the rear seats are roomier in the Cessna; and in turbulence the Cessna provides a somewhat better ride. Although the handling of the Cherokee is better, the control linkages still tend to be quite sloppy. The speeds are very similar, although the Cherokee may have a slight advantage. The Cherokee has the same brittle plastic interior. And yet... the Cherokee has a low wing. I could see when I turned. Forward visibility was better. There was no roof on the world. I felt liberated. Real airplanes have the wings on the bottom!
Cork city, Ireland
Cork city seen from the northwest
One more early flying photo - this is Cork city, taken from the west as I returned to the airport from one of my relatively rare flights to the north. Mostly we flew south, as the harbors along the coast provided lots of landmarks to help keep from getting lost, while to the north was nothing but hundreds of miles of patchwork, identical-looking green fields! You can see the bridges across the River Lee in the middle of the city quite clearly in this photo.
Wow - I'm flying!
Kinsale harbor, 1988
Hey, I was flying! And so I was off, cut loose to fly in the vicinity of Cork airport (we had no radio navigation equipment, so the instruction was "take the map, don't go too far, and try not to get lost!") to build up flight hours. I could barely believe that I was now up in the airplane, not the one on the ground looking up at it, and the sight of familiar places from this new perspective was strange indeed - nothing looked like I thought it would! So I took some photos. Most of them were bland indeed - green fields - and the photos have degraded with age. Still, this one of Kinsale harbor isn't too bad. (The line across the picture is the wing strut.) The town is in the lower right corner, and the light-colored snowflake-shape on the peninsula toward the upper left is James' Fort.
Learning to fly - Cessna 150 and 152 and Morane Rallye
Cessna 152, Cork airport, Ireland
My first job after college was in Cork, on the south coast of Ireland. There, at the Hibernian Flying Club, I started taking flying lessons in a Cessna 150, and then later in a Cessna 152 (seen in this photo).
Right up front: I don't like Cessnas. That said, they were wildly successful, and for good reason. They are simple and were once relatively cheap, and being rugged with fairly straightforward handling are considered excellent training aircraft. Many passengers like the high wing, which allows them to look down. As a pilot, I did appreciate the low landing speeds possible in a C-152.
Why do I lack enthusiasm for Cessnas? The ones I've flown had mushy controls; visibility to the side is invariably atrocious because the top of the side window is below my eyeline (the 152 at least has good forward visibility, unlike many of Cessna's larger models); the interiors featured lots of brittle plastic that was invariably falling apart, which put me off taking friends flying (typical question when they saw the interior - "Is this thing safe?"). Those high wings blocked the view in turns and I've found that high wings tend to give me a claustrophobic feeling of being roofed-in. And Cessnas are slow; for practical purposes it is often faster to travel by car!
With about 19 hours of airtime I returned to Kilkenny and checked out in a Morane Rallye like the one I'd first flown in as a pre-teen. I liked it much better. Oh, sure, its interior was a bit ratty too, and it was (incredibly!) even slower, but it had a proper stick (instead of a yoke), and the stick produced immediate response, and the airplane had awesome visibility out of that huge canopy (and over the low nose, too). I'd had an insight: I preferred low wings.
Right up front: I don't like Cessnas. That said, they were wildly successful, and for good reason. They are simple and were once relatively cheap, and being rugged with fairly straightforward handling are considered excellent training aircraft. Many passengers like the high wing, which allows them to look down. As a pilot, I did appreciate the low landing speeds possible in a C-152.
Why do I lack enthusiasm for Cessnas? The ones I've flown had mushy controls; visibility to the side is invariably atrocious because the top of the side window is below my eyeline (the 152 at least has good forward visibility, unlike many of Cessna's larger models); the interiors featured lots of brittle plastic that was invariably falling apart, which put me off taking friends flying (typical question when they saw the interior - "Is this thing safe?"). Those high wings blocked the view in turns and I've found that high wings tend to give me a claustrophobic feeling of being roofed-in. And Cessnas are slow; for practical purposes it is often faster to travel by car!
With about 19 hours of airtime I returned to Kilkenny and checked out in a Morane Rallye like the one I'd first flown in as a pre-teen. I liked it much better. Oh, sure, its interior was a bit ratty too, and it was (incredibly!) even slower, but it had a proper stick (instead of a yoke), and the stick produced immediate response, and the airplane had awesome visibility out of that huge canopy (and over the low nose, too). I'd had an insight: I preferred low wings.
Model airplanes
Control line model airplanes
As a kid in the 1980s I really couldn't afford to pay for nearly enough 10-minute flights to actually learn very much. I turned my attention to the cheaper pursuit of model airplane flying - but couldn't afford radio controlled models, either! I flew free flight models (no controls - just launch it and watch) and, later, control-line models, where the model flew in circles around the pilot on the end of a pair of very thin 50ft long steel wires that provided pitch control. With the control line models it was possible to climb and dive and, with some of them, to do loops and fly upside-down. Of course, the pilot ran the risk of becoming quite dizzy!
Here are two of them I built during my teen years: a Colt (left) and a Stunter (right), both from Veron models of the UK.
With radio control now so affordable, free flight and control line models are only rarely seen today, but both do survive.
Here are two of them I built during my teen years: a Colt (left) and a Stunter (right), both from Veron models of the UK.
With radio control now so affordable, free flight and control line models are only rarely seen today, but both do survive.
Early steps - an airport kid at Kilkenny airport, Ireland
Morane Rallye 100 at Kilkenny airport
From about age 12 and through my teens I used to hang out at the local airport and try to get rides in the planes. I made myself helpful by operating the control tower! This is one of the two planes that were based at Kilkenny airport. It's a Morane Rallye, with a 100hp engine. This particular one was the first light airplane I ever flew; I paid good money - IR£3.90 - for a 10-minute flight at age 12, and handled the controls as I flew over my school. I walked on air for the entire week afterwards! (Come on, what kid wouldn't love that?) About 11 years later, or so, I came back and got checked out in one of these, a sister aircraft registered EI-AUE.
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