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Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Prepare for the Check Ride, Part 1


When you took the exam to get your pilot certificate, you were asked questions that perhaps did not relate to the realities of everyday flying. You got the written test out of the way and promptly forgot the stuff that didn’t seem important.
Now, with new test standards due out soon, there’s a solid link between the bullets of info needed for the knowledge exam and the skills required to pass your check ride — and elements of both that make you a competent pilot. How did this happen?

Four years ago, the FAA brought ­together members of the training industry, advocacy associations (such as the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association) and instructor groups (NAFI and SAFE) to evolve the way we assess pilots. The outcome is the soon-to-launch Airman Certification Standards (ACS), which will replace the Practical Test Standards for each certificate and rating, and ­improve upon the knowledge test’s learning statement codes. Both the knowledge exam and the check ride cover the same areas — and now it should be a little more obvious that they do.

We’ll show you how this works by example. In this series, we focus on the areas that prove the toughest for aspiring pilots — and strive to help you in your real-world flying after you’ve aced the check ride. We’ll look at areas that brew the most failures on the check ride itself. We’ve polled examiners and instructors who are currently giving check rides to ensure we’re covering topics you may find the most challenging.

One of the most critical areas examiners test on a check ride is emergency procedures. While new pilots consider landings to be among the toughest maneuvers, the takeoff holds more ­hazards — and we see this reflected in accident reports. A pilot loses engine power after takeoff and cannot cope with the situation. The pilot either tries to turn back or gets caught in the panic of the moment and lets the airplane stall. No matter which way it ends, this failure to cope inevitably ends badly.
However, the new way of testing gives us a road map for handling the situation with grace and competence. Instead of rote memorization of a single checklist, pilots should master several concepts along with the elements of skill that come into play.

In order to deal with an engine failure after takeoff, you need to cover the following elements:
Preflight planning: You must assess aircraft performance, airport conditions, runway parameters, the surrounding environment, and the wind and weather.
Before-takeoff checklist: Your emergency briefing will be part of this on every flight in order to make the grade.

Loss of thrust on takeoff: The main event can be practiced both in flight with an instructor and in virtually any kind of flight simulator at every altitude and configuration until it becomes a low-panic situation. For the practicalities, let’s take a deeper look at each element below.
PREFLIGHT PLANNING

You normally fly a single model of airplane during your initial flight training, or perhaps you transition once along the way. Still, it’s easy to get complacent regarding your understanding of how the airplane will perform when it feels like you know it so well. What happens when you get a heavier passenger, for instance, or you have a different fuel load than you’re used to? Problems determining the proper weight and balance calculations crop up during check rides, according to the instructors we polled. What about flying from a different airport, or from a wet or slick runway? Failing to consider changes in a standard profile can lead pilots astray on takeoff — and compounds the problem if an emergency occurs.

BEFORE-TAKEOFF CHECKLIST
New pilots stay fairly methodical when it comes to preparing the airplane for flight, easily running line by line down the printed checklist. But you’re just reading through the checklist if you don’t deliberately pause at each item — and this can lead you to rush your way into the sky. If you’re going through the motions but not really seeing what you’re looking for, completing the checklist is just a wasted exercise. For emergency procedures when there isn’t time to consult the checklist, you need to have crucial action items memorized.

LOSS OF THRUST ON TAKEOFF
Entire articles cover the nuances of the so-called impossible turn. Actually, what examiners look for on your check ride is your understanding of the main problem in such a scenario. If your engine loses thrust on the runway, you need to take immediate actions to get stopped on the remaining asphalt. But if that loss of power comes in the climb, you’ve gone from piloting an airplane to a glider, and your understanding of aerodynamics must be correct. Your first, most important move is to preserve control by pitching for the right glide airspeed and pointing the airplane at the most forgiving surface in front of you. Your examiner wants to know that you get this and that you have the airplane under control — not that you have mastered low-altitude steep turns.
source:flyingmag.com

Unusual Attitudes: An FAA Inspector's Winding Career Path



After my purgatory in West Chicago and three mostly great years in the Indianapolis FSDO, the FAA offered a transfer to Cincinnati. It was a bittersweet decision, and my boss, Jay Peterson, rather obliquely suggested I might want to stay put. He understood I was anxious to get back home, but he also knew the Cincinnati manager’s reputation for being a hard ass. Jay was a good man and an excellent supervisor, and he was genuinely concerned about me and “Capt. Queeg.”
Maybe he was right — I liked Indianapolis, and it liked me. But it had been a long struggle to get home, and I hoped it was because the Cincinnati manager wanted me; in my heart I knew the decision had likely come from the regional office. They needed to fill the accident prevention specialist (APS) slot at Cincinnati and probably figured I wouldn’t be too much trouble there (which, of course, I would prove wrong). The APS job wasn’t seen as an upwardly mobile career path — certainly not the road to supervisory and managerial positions in the agency. In truth it had become a place to park inspectors who were slackers, troublemakers, without medicals, old or just plain incompetent but who couldn’t be fired because … well, c’mon, this was the government.
The program had its roots with a wonderful guy named Pete Campbell, a World War II B-24 veteran who joined the agency in the early 1960s. Working at the FAA Center in Oklahoma City, he was concerned with the dismal safety record of flight instructors and formed teams of FAA flight and ground instructors who created and conducted those “flight instructor refresher” courses still in place today. In Pete’s first seven years his team conducted more than 200 courses with more than 16,000 CFIs trained, and the accident rate was cut by an amazing 50 percent. In 1971 he organized and became director of the FAA’s Accident Prevention Program, which placed specialists in each of the nation’s 85 general aviation district offices — now FSDOs.
After my purgatory in West Chicago and three mostly great years in the Indianapolis FSDO, the FAA offered a transfer to Cincinnati. It was a bittersweet decision, and my boss, Jay Peterson, rather obliquely suggested I might want to stay put. He understood I was anxious to get back home, but he also knew the Cincinnati manager’s reputation for being a hard ass. Jay was a good man and an excellent supervisor, and he was genuinely concerned about me and “Capt. Queeg.”
Maybe he was right — I liked Indianapolis, and it liked me. But it had been a long struggle to get home, and I hoped it was because the Cincinnati manager wanted me; in my heart I knew the decision had likely come from the regional office. They needed to fill the accident prevention specialist (APS) slot at Cincinnati and probably figured I wouldn’t be too much trouble there (which, of course, I would prove wrong). The APS job wasn’t seen as an upwardly mobile career path — certainly not the road to supervisory and managerial positions in the agency. In truth it had become a place to park inspectors who were slackers, troublemakers, without medicals, old or just plain incompetent but who couldn’t be fired because … well, c’mon, this was the government.
The program had its roots with a wonderful guy named Pete Campbell, a World War II B-24 veteran who joined the agency in the early 1960s. Working at the FAA Center in Oklahoma City, he was concerned with the dismal safety record of flight instructors and formed teams of FAA flight and ground instructors who created and conducted those “flight instructor refresher” courses still in place today. In Pete’s first seven years his team conducted more than 200 courses with more than 16,000 CFIs trained, and the accident rate was cut by an amazing 50 percent. In 1971 he organized and became director of the FAA’s Accident Prevention Program, which placed specialists in each of the nation’s 85 general aviation district offices — now FSDOs.
I saw him in action only once or twice but learned valuable lessons, like how you don’t need to wear polyester pantsuits and speak importantly from a podium, addressing a bunch of pilots or mechanics with a formal speech. It’s far more effective and valuable to talk simply and from your heart, tell stories and encourage a two-way dialogue. I always envied Pete with his rich, smooth and slow Tennessee accent.
The upside of an APS job was it allowed the specialist to plan and run his own program, but, by my time, far too many were doing far too little. The downside was the position was capped at the GS-13 level, but, heck, when I ended up as a GS-13 step 10, you taxpayers were paying me an annual salary well over $100,000. The job title had been changed to safety program manager (SPM), which sounded grander, but the work and the pay were the same.
I poured myself into it, and, OK, part of this frantic activity — lots of seminars and lots of check rides — was to avoid the office as much as possible. Part was because I truly enjoyed the work. I’d go in “for free” on Saturdays and Sundays to knock out the paperwork, and it wasn’t long before there were phone calls from my counterparts in the Columbus and Cleveland offices who were ticked off, convinced I was trying to put them in a bad light. I’m simply genetically incapable of sitting in an office or cubicle, trying to look busy.
Although — maybe because — the programs and I were popular, the guy who would be my boss for 13 years was not happy about his lack of control over a lady he saw as a loose cannon. He’d threaten to take over the planning of my programs, refused the government’s authorized rate for use of personal aircraft (so I flew for 11 cents per mile), issued verbal and formal letters of reprimand when I wore jeans to hangar meetings and DC-3 check rides, and actually made daily “Martha reports” to the regional office. I couldn’t work flex time, but I had to submit multiple leave and comp-time requests each time I had an evening seminar. It was a nightmare.
One truly comical aspect of the safety program was a short-lived mandate to conduct Pilot and Aircraft Courtesy Evaluation (PACE) programs.
We did two PACEs — one at Johnny Lane’s Lebanon Warren County Airport where he coerced a few flying farmers into showing up.
The airworthiness contingent managed to ground four of the five airplanes and a rather ample lady inspector inserted herself, albeit reluctantly, into the lone survivor — a Piper Tri-Pacer. Even though it was a cold day, the engine fired right off, but then the airplane sat there for a while and abruptly shut down.
“This oil pressure is nearly at red line,” righteously declared the inspector.
“Well, yeah, that’s because the oil’s cold. If you give it a few minutes to warm up, the temp gauge will start to move and the pressure will drop. They all do that when it’s this cold.”
With no little difficulty she uninserted herself from the Tri-Pacer, climbed into the G-car, announced that all the airplanes should be grounded, and headed back to Cincinnati. I talked to John, a safety program counselor and IA, and climbed in. Within a few minutes everything was in the green, so we went aviating, and I signed the pilot’s PACE certificate.
No surprise to find another reprimand letter in my growing file. The lady inspector, who later became the office manager in Atlanta, complained that I’d undermined her authority. Damned right, I had!
We tried one more at the Lunken FSDO with free hot dogs and pop, but only a swarm of honeybees showed up.
Toward the end of my 28-year stint with the FAA, somebody decided the program needed an overhaul. I knew that would end face-to-face contact between local pilots, mechanics and inspectors at meetings.
But I wasn’t quite ready to give up, so I presented myself at the Chicago regional office one wintry January morning. At a large rectangular table a rather grim, dour team of managers interviewed me for the Ohio position. I was snotty but enthusiastic because our program in the southern part of the state had been successful. But enthusiasm didn’t cut it, and it became clear that I wasn’t what the FAA had in mind. When I considered returning to operations work — reviewing manuals, conducting inspections, processing violations and handling waiver requests — I thought, no, it was time to hang it up.
source:flyingmag.com

Gear Up: GA Provides Unexpected Benefit for New Grandfather



Josephine Marie was supposed to be born in mid-May, but she got into an argument with her mother long before then. As January ice-walked into February during a cold Boston winter, the argument grew testy and then became life threatening. Kelly, her mother, reluctantly took to bed and soon thereafter submitted to hospitalization at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, one of the best in the world.

Kelly, with a doctorate in neuropsychology, was well aware of the risk to her pregnancy but less able to sense the risk to herself. By the first week of February, Kelly’s liver had begun to fail and her platelets, those little tiny chips in our blood that allow us to clot when injured, were falling to precipitously low levels. Kelly had a syndrome called, appropriately enough, HELLP (hemolysis, elevated liver enzymes and low platelet count). This is how women used to die in childbirth.

Kelly wanted to hang on as long as possible to give her baby girl a chance. But when I saw her, I hoped for an immediate C-section. Kelly, you see, is my daughter.
Josephine was born early on a February Monday morning — a “micro preemie.” A visit from the neonatal staff was not reassuring. I heard words like “redirect care,” “cremation” and “burial.” I knew Kelly to be capable of fierce application when challenged, but I was struck with wonder as I watched her fight for her baby. She sought counsel from another neonatal expert, a friend of hers, and he had a more hopeful outlook. Kelly and her husband, Chris, decided to press on. The baby had a breathing tube for months, suffered from hemorrhages into her brain, and required an operation for necrotizing enterocolitis, a disease of premature infants that can cause perforation of the intestine. If it weren’t for total parenteral nutrition, surfactant, modern antibiotics and the ceaseless dedication of her caregivers, she would have died many times in the first days of her life. One hundred and eleven days after she was born, Josephine went home on oxygen.


What does any of this have to do with Flying magazine, especially a renewed and rejuvenated one, which is all about airplanes and those who fly and maintain them? It turns out that GA in its many forms can provide things that we might not often think about — and that may have a profound effect on our lives.


Yes, my wife, Cathy, and I are privileged to own a Cheyenne turboprop and, yes, we have homes in New Hampshire and Florida, and, yes, though we like to think we worked hard for these things, our lives have been unbelievably fortunate (blessed!), and we like to think we know it and we show how grateful we are for it.


So fast-forward almost two years to last January. Kelly and Chris wanted to get out of the cold and bring Josephine to Florida, but her pulmonologist forbid travel on an airliner. It turns out that premature infants are especially susceptible to lung infections during their second winter of life. By then they are mostly off oxygen, and the focus is on growth, learning and physical therapy. This is when parents can decide that a flight on an airliner with 150 other people can’t be all that risky. The next thing you know, one of those passengers has passed on an uncommon pathogen to an unsuspecting, helpless, premature child.


So if we wanted to give the family a chance to warm up in Florida, our Cheyenne would have to ride to the rescue. After consulting with Josephine’s pulmonologist, a cabin altitude of 6,000 feet (about 2,000 lower than most airliners) was deemed safe. Our 35-year-old airplane can do that while cruising at Flight Level 230. How, we wondered, would the baby do?


For that matter, how would I do? While in New Hampshire for the holidays, we planned to bring Kelly and her family with us to Florida in the Cheyenne. The weather in New England was below seagull minimums for four days in a row. 
I had hoped for a January 1 flight to Tampa, but I needed the weather gods to smile upon us. After so many days of fog, freezing drizzle, ice and pestilence, the forecast called for 5,000 broken and headwinds of manageable proportions.


We picked the kids (I should say parents) and Josephine up in Norwood, Massachusetts. The weather was good. Despite headwinds, we were refueling in Newport News, Virginia, before two hours were up. Everybody seemed fine. Josephine played and had a snack. There were high hopes for a nap on the next leg, the longer one, to Tampa. We were lucky; we were home before dusk — ebullient and pleased with ourselves, the baby and (in my case) the airplane.

Josephine Gear Up
Courtesy Dick Karl
Josephine's first six months were a life-and-death struggle, so a little private-plane service seems well deserved and enjoyed.


Chris had to fly back to work in Boston commercially, but we enjoyed a full 11 days with Kelly and Josephine. The dire predictions of the baby’s growth and development have so far proved to be overly pessimistic. She calls me “Pop” and herself “Jo-feen.” I’m good with that.


The return to Norwood looked good for Monday. Tailwinds were predicted, but that happy circumstance came with winds at the destination forecast to be 270 degrees at 17, gusting to 35. Nobody would sleep through these classic postfrontal passage gusts.


Fltplan.com put our trip at FL 230 at three hours and 42 minutes over a distance of 1,037 nautical miles. This is probably the best tailwind component I’ve experienced over this route. We were slated to burn just 1,694 pounds of jet-A, leaving a cushion of 750 pounds (110 gallons) of reserve — good enough for almost two hours of flying. This, I must proudly point out, is to go from almost the bottom of the United States to almost the top of the country.


Sure enough, the winds were gusting to 34 when we started the visual to Runway 27 at KOWD. The Cheyenne does best when I fly the approach at 120 knots, look to cross the numbers at 100 knots, and touchdown at 94 knots. That day I kept an extra 5 knots at each phase — but wait, was that the stall warning I just heard? It was. Our shear was plus-minus at least 10 knots. We landed without guile and taxied in


The return from Massachusetts to Florida was another matter; it took five hours plus 44 minutes and 3,500 pounds of gas. Good thing I was alone.


But the job was done. The airplane gave us a gift I never would have imagined we would need when we bought it 16 years ago. Back then we had no grandchildren and plenty of hopes. What a ride it has been.
source:flyingmag.com

Crash of a Convair CV-580 in Manning


Accident description
Date & TimeMay 5, 2016 at 1611 LT
Type of AircraftConvair CV-580
Operator
Registration C-FEKF
Flight PhaseLanding (descent or approach)
Flight TypeSurvey / Patrol / Reconnaissance
SurvivorsYes
SiteAirport (less than 10 km from airport)
ScheduleManning - Manning
c/n 80
YOM 1953
LocationManning, Alberta
CountryCanada
RegionNorth America
Crew on board 2
Crew fatalities 0
Pax fatalities 0
Other fatalities 0
Total fatalities0
CircumstancesThe crew was engaged in a fire fighting mission in the Fort McMurray region as Tanker 45. After an uneventful mission, the crew returned to Manning Airport. After landing on runway 25, the aircraft suffered directional control problems and veered off runway to the right. It then hit a drainage ditch, lost its nose gear and came to rest in a grassy area. The propeller on the right engine was sheared off while the propeller on the left engine was bent. The fuselage was bent just behind the cockpit. Both pilots were slightly injured.
source:baaa-acro.com

Crash of a De Havilland DHC-2 Beaver I in Lumby


Accident description
Date & TimeMay 10, 2016 at 1030 LT
Type of AircraftDe Havilland DHC-2 Beaver
Operator
Registration C-FMPV
Flight PhaseTakeoff (climb)
Flight TypePrivate
SurvivorsYes
SitePlain
c/n 1304
YOM 1959
LocationLumby, British Columbia
CountryCanada
RegionNorth America
Crew on board 1
Crew fatalities 0
Pax on board 2
Pax fatalities 0
Other fatalities 0
Total fatalities0
CircumstancesShortly after takeoff from a private airstrip in Lumby, the airplane suffered engine problems. The pilot elected to make an emergency landing but the aircraft crashed in flames in a prairie located 300 feet from a house. All three occupants were able to escape and were uninjured while the aircraft was partially destroyed by fire. The pilot and both passengers were en route to the south of the province when the mishap occurred.
source:baaa-acro.com

Crash of a Cessna 208B Grand Caravan in Lodi



Accident description
Date & TimeMay 12, 2016 at 1400 LT
Type of AircraftCessna 208B Grand Caravan
OperatorFlanagan Enterprises - USA
Registration N1114A
Flight PhaseTakeoff (climb)
Flight TypeTraining
SurvivorsYes
SiteAirport (less than 10 km from airport)
ScheduleLodi - Lodi
c/n 208B-0309
YOM 1992
LocationLodi, California
CountryUSA
RegionNorth America
Crew on board 1
Crew fatalities 0
Pax on board 17
Pax fatalities 0
Other fatalities 0
Total fatalities0
CircumstancesShortly after takeoff from runway 08 at Lodi Airport, while in initial climb, the aircraft suffered engine trouble. The pilot elected to make an emergency landing but the aircraft crash landed in a vineyard and came to rest upside down, about 500 yards east of the airport. All 18 occupants were quickly rescued and only the pilot suffered minor injuries.
source:baaa-acro.com

Tuesday, 17 May 2016

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source:rockwellcollins.com


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