Charged up and inspected (a post-buy I guess you could call it), I enjoyed flying this airplane for five years. I cruised at 110 knots and I got to fly fast eastbound and slow westbound. One flight from Chicago’s Meigs Field to St. Louis took over three hours at an average ground speed of 78 knots. At some point traffic on the interstate below appeared to outrun us. 

Time led to a succession of airplanes, each a little faster than its predecessor. A Piper Arrow gave way to a Cessna 210, which in turn was followed by a P210. The P210 could get up to the lower flight levels but was no faster, and maybe even a little slower, than the unpressurized 210.

This airplane was the winner for low flight. After a good tail wind on the east side of a cold front, I ran into furious headwinds out of the northwest after crossing the front. En route to Chicago, I descended to 10, then six, and then four thousand feet, watching the fuel reserves evaporate. Whew.

I flew that P210 for 13 years before buying a Cessna 340. Pressurized and faster, the 340 was flight planned for 190 knots true airspeed. It had the benefit of performing well at lower altitudes when we wanted to stay below strong headwinds and with turbocharged engines could climb into the lower FL 200s to take advantage of a strong tailwind. 

• READ MORE: That Sound of Music in the Air

It was when fortune shined upon me and I moved up to turbine-powered airplanes that altitude, speed and, for that matter, reliability became predictable. A Piper Cheyenne was arguably the best airplane for our needs. With a true airspeed of 230 knots and a penchant for lower flight levels (it was most comfortable at 23,000 feet), this airplane allowed nonstop flights from Tampa, Florida, to Lebanon, New Hampshire. Occasionally, though, that meant that a healthy boost from a quartering tailwind was required, but we did it more than once.

Over 17 happy years that airplane took us to Vancouver, San Francisco, Chicago, Colorado Springs, Miami, Key West, Marsh Harbor in the Bahamas and, of course, to our summer cottage in New Hampshire. The engines never hiccupped once. They were so reliable that flights across the Gulf of Mexico from Tampa to New Orleans were done without anxiety. 

All this turbine time allowed me to change careers at age 67 and be hired by a Part 135 operation where I flew Cessna CJ3s. Taught by some of the best and most patient captains, I became comfortable with true airspeeds of just over 400 knots and altitudes as high as FL 450. These weren’t my airplanes, though, so even though I was at the controls and became a captain, the special feeling you get from your airplane just wasn’t there.

The CJ3 experience gave me confidence to buy a single pilot jet when I retired. The Beechcraft Premier 1 was a real airplane, with sophisticated systems. MMO was .80. Two things about this airplane were really remarkable. As the sole occupant of the airplane, I occasionally found myself, alone, at FL 410—and the feeling was magnificent. And, yes, as a safety precaution, I always kept the oxygen mask nestled in my lap. 

• READ MORE: Riding in the Back of Some Nice Private Jets

The other remarkable thing about this Premier was its speed. My highest ground speed was 577 knots. A true airspeed of 450 and a quartering tailwind of 170 knots provided the push. These true airspeeds made headwinds less of a nuisance and made tailwinds a thrill. I have a picture of my daughter reading a magazine while the cabin information sign showed a ground speed of 629 mph. 

My fastest travel was, regrettably, as a passenger. Well, not too regrettably. In the 1990s you could cash in US Airways frequent-flyer points and book a Concorde flight. We didn’t have enough points for my wife, Cathy, and me to both fly Concorde, so she volunteered to fly to London the night before. I flew to New York, had dinner with a friend, and arrived the next morning at John F. Kennedy International Airport (KJFK) about an hour before British Airways was to launch a supersonic flight to London.

Stuffed with croissants and coffee, I got in line to board. When I got to the cabin door, I said to the flight attendant, “I would love to see the cockpit.” With a look of practiced disdain and a clipped British accent, she said, “Most of the children do.” Ouch.

I sulked to my seat and ordered a cognac. About half way across the ocean, the same flight attendant said that the captain would see me now. Armed with all sorts of Concorde trivia, including the facts that the airplane is longer at Mach 2 than on the ground as a consequence of friction-induced heat, that the airplane was trimmed by moving fuel backward and forward, and that, speaking of fuel, there would be very little left when we got London. 

• READ MORE: Taking the Grand Tour at Gulfstream Aerospace

As I entered the flight deck, the engineer greeted me. I knew if I was to stay there very long, I had to make a friend. The flight engineer was great. He told me of a time when he kissed his wife goodbye and reported for a New York morning flight. When he reached New York, the engineer on the return flight had “taken ill,” so he was assigned to head back to London. “When I got home, my wife had gone out with some friends. I was having a pipe when she walked in and said, ‘I thought you were going to New York?’ I answered, ‘Well, I did.’”

As he was telling this story, I noticed an altitude of 56,000-plus feet. “We float around up here. There isn’t any other traffic.” That is the highest and fastest I ever flew.

The flight attendant reappeared to drag me away. I pleaded to the flight engineer to return. He said he’d try.

Sure enough, a different flight attendant came back during descent and ushered me forward. I had scored the jumpseat for landing. ATC cleared us into a hold. The engineer said this was just for show: “We don’t have the fuel to hold, but other airlines complain that we get special treatment, so we have this little dance.”

We were then cleared direct to Heathrow (EGLL). After landing we were momentarily told to hold short of a runway from which a new (then) 747-400 was departing.

As Air China rotated just in front of us, the captain turned to the first officer and said, “It must be like flying a bloody brick.”

This column first appeared in the September Issue 950 of the FLYING print edition.

The post Half Century of Flight Has Included Some Altitude and Ground Speed appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Actually, I started out already feeling somewhat bummed. I’ve been licking my wounds ever since selling our Cessna Citation CJ1 jet. Insurance costs have increased dramatically, especially for older single-pilot ops in jets. Looking for a new (to me) airplane has been depressing. I’ve had it with the ominous, threatening letters from the Manager, Aerospace Medical Certification Division in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma (“You must promptly report any adverse changes…You are cautioned to abide by Title 14 of the Code of Federal Regulations…”), and have decided to transition to Basic Med. This limits the maximum takeoff weight (MTOW) to 6,000 pounds. I don’t remember meeting this doctor when I took the AME course several years ago, but I do remember the vibe of the class.

My thoughts turned to finding a Cessna 340 with fond memories of “6828 Charlie,” a beautiful 340 that my wife, Cathy, and I enjoyed from 1995 to 2000. The original certified MTOW was 5,990 pounds, which should qualify. The only trouble is almost all 340s have been improved with RAM programs that increase the MTOW to about 6,300 pounds. Is it the improved MTOW that counts or the originally certified weight? I am not going to be the guy to test that theory. Some A&Ps have suggested that the vortex generators installed to improve stall speed and increase MTOW could be removed and make a 340 eligible for Basic Med. What a thought.

Some friends have recommended the Beechcraft Baron. Though the airplane would have to be flown below 18,000 feet to qualify for Basic Med, a “kit” from Textron makes the slightly overweight airplane eligible for the program. Why Textron hasn’t provided a similar kit for the 340 is a puzzle. It is also clear that there are Baron lovers and there are 340 lovers.

The fact is, the insurance industry and the FAA have stimulated me to abandon a really safe turbine engine jet for a piston twin with the attendant excitement that comes with engines that have parts changing directions more than 30 times per second. Add to that the removal of the vortex generators designed to enhance safety. Now I’ll be plowing around in lower altitudes in weather with less reliable engines. How this improves the fortunes of my insurance company is not clear to me.

Armed with these ruminations, I joined Tom for the short flight. More grim news was immediately evident. Tom’s hangar lease at KVDF is not being renewed. Hangar space is scarce around these parts (the Tampa-St. Petersburg metro area), and losing a slot is a blow. Apparently, he parked a car in the hangar against the rules. I know from personal experience that the FBO at KVDF is big on rules.

Tom’s longtime repair shop, Aeromech at KLAL, is closing after 30 years. Kenny, the owner, told us, “I can’t get parts. I can’t get grease for bearings. Cylinder repair shops can’t get valves, can’t get vanes. There’s a shop in Indiana with hundreds of cylinders sitting on the bench (starving for) parts. Add to that my hangar rent is tripling. I’m going to go home and raise strawberries.”

He agreed to fit Tom in for an annual before closing day. His staff members were unsure as to what they planned to do next.

Many Cessna 340s and Barons are more than 40 years old. What about parts in the future, and what about the fate of avgas? I haven’t even begun to examine all the forces that seem to be wishing me to drive, not fly, into the sunset—in a recreational vehicle, not an airplane.

But the primitive desire to own an airplane is rearing its not-to-be-denied-or-disrespected head. At the moment, I am a hangarless, airplaneless 77-year-old who has enjoyed airplane ownership virtually without interruption for more than 50 years. There have been times when I could barely afford an airplane. There have been times when I just couldn’t fly very often. There have been times when I thought it was time to quit. Somehow, though, I just can’t see it ending now. I think back to that first airplane, a Musketeer, and its subsequent siblings: the Arrow, the Cessna 210, the P210, the 340, the Piper Cheyenne, the Raytheon Premier, and the CJ1. Each of these airplanes gave me purpose and pride. They coaxed me into relationships with amazing mechanics possessed of accumulated wisdom and, oftentimes, a gentle perspective on life. These airplanes and their A&Ps, the line guys and the ATC controllers, held my hand in times of woe.

There certainly is rich irony here. Just as my day job as a surgeon and my retirement job as a Part 135 Citation CJ3 pilot provided me with the money to own, and experience to fly, a CJ1, I’m being elbowed out of my dream airplane. I get the same sense of wistfulness at a high-end steakhouse. I can finally afford that 12-ounce filet mignon, but I can’t possibly eat it. Ain’t that something?

Tom offered to let me fly his other Aerostar back to KVDF, but I just didn’t have the heart to accept this kindness. Flying is joyful, and I wasn’t feeling that way. So I looked out the window at the cows and homes and listened to the AWOS. I watched as a high-time airline pilot and Aerostar guru chirped his airplane safely home. We tugged the airplane into the hangar, and I watched with alarm as the hangar door cleared the nose by an inch. We agreed that we’d both live to fight another day.

The post Should We All Be Frightened of the GA Future Ahead? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

“I am not going to do a Watsonville,” he told me, referring to the midair collision that occurred at Watsonville Municipal Airport (KWVI) in northern California. The accident occurred on August 18 when a twin-engine Cessna 340 and a Cessna 152 were both on final approach. The C-152 was on final when the Cessna 340 which was traveling an estimated 80 knots faster than it should have been on approach, collided with the C-152. All three occupants of the aircraft and a dog were killed.

This crash came on the heels of a midair at Las Vegas international when the pilot of a Piper turboprop lined up on the wrong runway and collided with a Cessna 172 that was on short final. 

And just two weeks ago there was a midair involving a Sonex Xenos and a Cessna 172 near Longmont, Colorado that killed three. 

If the frequency of midair collisions doesn’t distress you, you don’t have a pulse. We pilots as a group have to do better.

Chapter 1 of the FAAs Airplane Flying Handbook (FAA-H-8083-3C) notes that all pilots should practice the concept of see and avoid other traffic. It is easy to say, but we all know that mid-airs happen when pilot’s don’t see each other until it is too late. The text goes on to warn us “Most mid-air collision accidents and reported near midair collision incidents occur in good VFR weather conditions and during the hours of daylight. Most of these accident/incidents occur within 5 miles of an airport and/or near navigation aids.”

Safety in the Practice Area

Within that five miles from the airport you will likely find the practice area for the local flight schools. You have probably been there before. A lot of dual instruction takes place there, along with a lot of student solo flight. We can only hope that the pilots are effectively scanning for traffic, keeping their eyes outside 90% of the time, and always performing clearing turns. Sometimes pilots forget them — they may be distracted with other piloting tasks, or they may be fatigued or even bored and sort of zone out — in this case, the airplane is flying them, and they may not see what is outside.

It takes a few seconds for eyes to focus and for your brain to register that it is an airplane you see out the window. If it appears to be static but is increasing in size, you are on a collision course and evasive action should be taken.

The radio as a tool

Some areas have a tacit agreement among the local flight schools for procedures in the practice area. This can involve self-announcing using an air-to-air frequency, such as 122.75 to announce position in reference to the landmark and altitude along with the intended maneuver. For example, “Southwest practice area, blue and white high wing over the landfill at 3,400, steep turns” to let other pilots know where they are in an effort to enhance situational awareness. 

This can be effective as long as the pilots  A) Know where the landmarks are and B) Are self-announcing. 

Even if you don’t want to talk on the frequency you can still listen and hear where the other aircraft are — combine that with clearing turns and ADS-B, and you increase your chance of avoiding a midair collision.

Many flight schools require their instructors to be familiar with the area before they start teaching at the school. It’s fairly easy to do by using a sectional and Google Earth. If the flight instructor does not know where the landmarks are or simply doesn’t want to use the procedure the learner gets the message that it isn’t important — and they won’t use it either. 

Other instructors, renter pilots and solo students try to avoid practice area issues by heading to other areas to practice — this works as long as the pilots realize they are probably not the only aircraft out there and have good situational awareness about IFR fixes that they may be near. Many VFR pilots will tell you about the fun place they like to fly — or it was fun until that other airplane got too close. A review of the sectional and approach plate shows the pilots was flying within five miles of an airport and in the vicinity of an initial approach fix. 

The more experienced CFIs will often show the learners where the fixes for the IFR approaches are, along with the altitudes the aircraft are supposed to be at when they cross them. 

Pilots should also realize that their eyes may require several seconds to refocus when switching views between items such as the instrument panel to out the window. It’s also easy to be distracted by piloting tasks such as tuning in a radio, programming the GPS, etc. Remember the adage “Aviate, navigate, communicate” in that order ALWAYS.

Flight Following for Maneuvers

Have you ever asked for and been granted flight following for VFR maneuvers? If ATC isn’t too busy they will often accommodate. For the learner, this gives them an introduction to the use of ATC for flight following, a skill they will develop when they begin cross-country flights and they will definitely need when they pursue their instrument certification.

If ATC is too busy and you cannot obtain flight following, there is always the option of  monitoring the approach control frequency — you can find it on the Terminal Area Chart and Sectional for the area and listen for aircraft on approach to airports — especially if they are heading to an IFR fix you may be near.

Published VFR procedures

Sometimes airports are so busy the airport sponsor works with the FAA to create VFR procedures that rely on ground landmarks and assigned altitudes. These procedures are printed in FAA-approved publications, like on the TAC if the airport exists under the Class B veil, or the airport sponsor has taken it upon themselves to publish these VFR departures and arrivals either online or in a paper pamphlet form.

So how do you know if your airplane or the airport you are going to visit has these procedures? Check the appropriate Chart Supplement and or go online and search the airport’s official webpage.

For the most part though, reporting points are shared through the folklore method or “tribal knowledge” and I must say I am not a fan — if you are unfamiliar, a pilot reporting they are over “Wally World” doesn’t mean a thing unless you have stumbled into a Chevy Chase movie — after landing we learned it was local slang for a water park – the learner thought it was a reference to the Walmart located across the street from the airport – it’s easy to understand how confusing tribal knowledge is. 

That being said, I have been that CFI who has pointed landmarks on the ground, telling the learner what they are and adding the caveat “this is not published at this time” and noting the reference is part of the entry or departure from the local pattern and it IS tribal knowledge. This practice puts my ears back flat as I’m a person who likes attribution for information and when I hear the phrase ‘my instructor told me’ as attribution it makes me want to scream into a pillow.

I am not the only pilot who is uncomfortable with tribal knowledge — there are some pilots who can get very ugly about this to the point they will lecture a pilot over the radio about their perceived transgressions. Please don’t be this pilot. Please don’t engage this pilot.

• READ MORE: Strategies To Avoid Mid-Air Collisions

Some pilots can REALLY get hostile — on one flight my learner and myself were subjected to a midair lecture from a pilot who chastised the learner for reporting he was “Over the Boeing plant”. From the air, the Boeing Plant is a collection of industrial buildings a few miles to the southwest of the airport. On the TAC it is listed as WAREHOUSE when actually, it’s sort of an industrial complex.

The objecting pilot who was based at the airport argued the description, which was local knowledge, was confusing and useless to a pilot unfamiliar with the area. He was correct —  but this was not the time or place for that discussion. 

“Ignore him,” I ordered, thinking perhaps after we landed we could have a civilized discussion with the pilot over a cup of coffee.

We turned on the 45° — my learner making proper calls, wondering if they were getting out because the lecture was continuing. By now I was wondering what this was really about. Was this really about the mention of a local landmark? Was he not getting enough attention at home? The lecture finally stopped when we were abeam the numbers.

“Finally!” the learner said, then announced we were abeam the numbers and would be landing full stop.

Captain Lecture replied with “See you at the fuel pumps”. 

My learner looked at me, horrified while other pilots chimed in predicting a fight would follow. 

“Ignore them too,” I said.

“What if he is FAA?” the learner asked.

I replied that I didn’t think anyone from the FAA would go off like that on the frequency, and since I was the instructor and therefore PIC on this flight, any transgression was on my shoulders. I would take the heat.

“What if he wants to fight?”

“Then you hold my coat,” I replied, hoping it wouldn’t come to that, as I had just had my nails done.

As we pulled up to the fuel pump a few of my coworkers (all male) came out of the office. They’d been listening to the unicom. I shook my head and waved them back. 

We shut down using the checklist. No need to get sloppy because we were about to have a Westside Story moment.

Captain Lecture, in his mighty Cessna 150 pulled into transient parking. He shut down quickly, threw open the door and started marching over to us. He was wearing a military olive drab flight suit but the airplane was decidedly civilian. 

“Oh, he’s mad!” observed the learner.

“Stay in the airplane,” I said in Mom voice.

Captain Lecture was not much larger than me. I am — 5’2″ on a good day — so I wasn’t really worried as I stepped out of the airplane.

Captain Lecture radiated tension. “I have a bone to pick with you!” he yelled, raising his right hand and gesturing angrily.

“Oh hell no!” I heard my learner behind me, and I looked back to see him — all 6’9″ of him — tumbling out of the airplane, as he was ready to come to my defense.

I deployed the PARENTAL ARM. “Stay behind me,” I ordered, then looked back at Captain Lecture. He was frozen in place. 

“Is there something we need to talk about?” I asked politely. The subtext was YES-THIS-MAN-I-AM-HOLDING-BACK-IS-TWO-PEOPLE-TALLER-THAN-YOU-ARE-AND-HE-IS-FEELING-PROTECTIVE.

Captain Lecture, eyes wide, shook his head wordlessly and did an about face. He went back to his airplane, started it up and taxied away.

“That is how not to handle these things,” I told the learner. Later, I was informed by the airport manager that Captain Lecture often took pilots to task over the radio. This happened so much, one day someone from the FAA called him to suggest a change in behavior.

Now here’s the funny part — before I did any flying with this particular learner I had to go through the airplane to make sure there were no spiders on board. The learner is terrified of them. He found one once and let out a scream in a register that even I can’t hit.

We had an agreement that if spiders were found I was to remove them humanely, and place them in an area of shelter, preferably near a talking pig.

The post Avoiding Mid-Airs: Safety in the Practice Area appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The accident happened Thursday just before 3 p.m. at Watsonville Municipal Airport (KWVI). The first notification came from a Twitter post from the City of Watsonville.

Multiple agencies responded to Watsonville Municipal Airport after 2 planes attempting to land collided. We have reports of multiple fatalities.

Report came in at 2:56pm.

Investigation is underway, updates to follow. pic.twitter.com/pltHIAyw5p

— City of Watsonville (@WatsonvilleCity) August 18, 2022

The airport is a non-towered facility with intersecting runways, 9/27 and 2/20. According to city officials, the aircraft involved were a Cessna 152 and a twin-engine Cessna 340A. Both were attempting to land on Runway 20 at the time.

There was one person onboard the 152, and two people onboard the 340. All three died in the accident.

Wreckage from the smaller aircraft landed in a field outside the airport. Video of the scene shows the front end of the aircraft smashed. The 340 crashed into a hangar next to the runway.

“We are absolutely saddened to hear about the tragic incident that took the lives of several people,” said a post on Watsonville’s Twitter account. “The City of Watsonville sends its deepest condolences to the friends and family of those who passed.”

No one on the ground was injured.

We are absolutely saddened to hear about the tragic incident that took the lives of several people.

The City of Watsonville sends its deepest condolences to the friends and family of those who passed. pic.twitter.com/DWxBDrjxpi

— City of Watsonville (@WatsonvilleCity) August 19, 2022

ATC Recordings

The 340, tail number N740WJ, was registered to ALM Holding LLC, according to the FAA. The ADS-B data app Flightaware shows the aircraft departed from Turlock Municipal Airport (O15) approximately 74 nm away at 2:32 p.m. and headed straight for KWVI. The aircraft was in the air for approximately 23 minutes.

The 152, N49931, was registered to Monterey Bay Aviation, according to Flightaware, the 152 was in the pattern for Runway 20.

LiveATC captured the transmissions of the aircraft in the pattern at the non-towered airport. 

There were several aircraft in the vicinity of the airport and in the pattern when at 22:07 on the recording, the pilot of the twin announced their intention to do a straight-in approach to Runway 20 at Watsonville. The pilot repeated this transmission at 22:17.

At 24:12 in the recording: The pilot of the 340 reported a 3-mile final for Runway 20. The next transmission is from the 152 pilot who reported turning left base.

The 340 pilot stated: "Looking for traffic on left base."

The 152 pilot responded: "Yeah, I see you, you're behind me."

The last transmission from the 152 pilot is: "I'm going to go around, you're coming at me pretty quick."

Two small planes collided in Watsonville, California, while trying to land at a local airport on Thursday and at least two of the three occupants were killed, officials said. https://t.co/IQ23KTQgM9 pic.twitter.com/M5UeVpnxmw

— The Associated Press (@AP) August 19, 2022

Approach Speed

The next transmission is someone warning the other pilots about the aircraft accident at Watsonville.

ADS-B data shows the 340 in the airport traffic pattern at a speed of 182 knots. The normal approach speed for a 340 in the landing configuration is approximately 117 knots.

In an interview with a local photojournalist, a passing motorist said he saw the 340 approaching the airport and was surprised by how fast it was traveling. He did not see the other airplane until impact, saying the 340 hit the 152 “like a missile,” and the 152 “went end-over-end losing its wing” and the sky filled with debris.

He then described an explosion, fire, and smoke rising from the hangar where the 340 crashed.

The wing of the 152 was recovered from a city street outside the airport and away from the main wreckage.

A witness on the ground told the Santa Cruz Sentinel that the aircraft were about 200 feet in the air when they collided.

The NTSB and FAA are investigating the crash.

UPDATE: The two planes that crashed at Watsonville Municipal Airport collided while attempting to land, the city says. https://t.co/KUM6ndF9s8 pic.twitter.com/VRcUnZSxQT

— NBC Bay Area (@nbcbayarea) August 18, 2022

About the Airport

KWVI has two runways, Runway 2/20 measuring 4,501 feet by 149 feet and Runway 9/27, measuring 3,998 feet by 98 feet. 

The airport was built in 1931 and expanded during World War II when it became an Auxiliary Navy base. It was used by airships for coastal patrol until 1945, and became a training base for fighters. 

After the war, the airport was turned into a civilian field and eventually became the home of a popular vintage aircraft airshow.

The post Three Killed in California Mid-Air Collision appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Here’s the tale (tail) of three dogs and three airplanes. All had a budget; you will see how they spent their allowance.

Ubu and the Cessna 340

Ubu was a rescue in the sense that one of my kids had a friend whose dog had gotten loose, and next thing you know, there were several Lab-shepherd puppies to offer up to unsuspecting teenagers and their families. Ubu learned to fly in a box in the hold of commercial airliners. On one memorable escapade, my wife, Cathy, and I were flying from sunny Tampa, Florida, to snowy Boston, Massachusetts, with Ubu down below.

Four hours into the flight, the Delta captain announced a diversion to Bangor, Maine. After refueling, we took to the gray and cold skies again, headed back to Boston. (“The airport should open soon,” we were reassured.) Three hours of holding later, we landed in Providence, Rhode Island. I met the captain on the jet bridge and pleaded with him to release the dog, even though we weren’t at our destination. He relented. When the crate came out on the luggage carousel, you could hear a loud tail thump, thump, thump. Ubu had spotted us. It was a snowy drive in that rental car, but we were reunited.

Man and dog both upgraded when we sold the Cessna P210 and bought the 340. Ubu was happy to leave behind the airlines and switch to air-stair entry and unrestricted cabin—and sometimes cockpit—access. The dog was nobody’s fool, and neither was the 340. Ubu’s Labrador genes were evident in his exuberance, which matched the airplane’s speed and altitude. When we landed, Ubu invariably demonstrated his approval with a characteristic male-dog “happy meter,” if you know what I mean. Then, when the door was opened and the stairs extended, Ubu would survey his domain. There was one lineman at home base that Ubu didn’t like. If he spotted that poor man, he’d lunge out of the airplane and head right for the poor guys private parts.

As the dog aged and became infirm , I could not bring myself to put him down. He still ate voraciously and his eyes still glowed. I wrote a piece in the local newspaper about the dilemma entitled, “When is it time to help Ubu along?” A friend read the piece and told me she could find a new dog when we were ready. That’s how we met Corbett.

Corbett and the Cheyenne

Corbett was a yellow Labrador retriever whose only issues were unbridled exuberance and a cancer that took him too soon. His size and energy proved too much for his original owner, so we got this wild thing at one year old, just after we had upgraded to a Piper Cheyenne I turboprop. I approached our first flight with this crazy 80-pound dog with trepidation. A visiting friend, a senior Southwest Airlines captain, volunteered to be copilot on a short test flight. The plan was for Cathy to sit in the back with Corbett, while Tony and I sat in the cockpit barricaded in with large FedEx boxes. Tony informed the ground controller that we wanted to do a dog test flight around the pattern, and off we went. When switched from tower to departure to arrival back to tower, the last controller said, “I don’t hear any barking—I guess you guys are OK.”

Were we ever. In many ways, that dog and that airplane were the best fit any man has ever known. The airplane was sturdy, fast, burned jet-A, looked great, and gave us 17 years of very happy flying. Corbett was an equal contributor to our lives, filling our days with ball-chasing, swimming and flying. He’d come up to the cockpit once in a while and check on the captain’s navigation and energy-management skills. He was born to fly. When we landed and lowered the air stairs, the linemen would see a dog and cover themselves with defensive hands. They had remembered Ubu.

Corbett died too young of lung cancer. He spent his allowance on medical treatment. I tried to console myself by buying a fast jet and searching for a new dog. By then, I had learned about flying while employed by a great Part 135 carrier stocked amply with generous captains. They taught me a lot and made flying a jet a real possibility. 

Rocco and the Premier

I got my head turned by a 2000 Beechcraft/Raytheon Premier 1. Despite the extensive pre-buy and acceptance test flight, my advisors and I missed the fact that the airplane had a persistent and likely not-fixable flaw in the speed-brake logic. On the delivery flight home with an instructor, we got a “speed-brake fail” and “roll fail” light. Fittingly, around this time, we tried to replace Corbett with a dog we found on a Lucky Lab Rescue site. Because I had always wanted a dog named Rocco, we picked one out on the Internet with that name. Both the airplane and the dog tested our patience.

Rocco had been found at a kill shelter in Kentucky and then shipped to a veterinary school in Indiana, where he was used for practice—as in practice drawing blood, practice anesthetizing. I was oblivious as to how this history might alter a happy dog’s view of life. In retrospect, we had zero information about his personality. Like the airplane’s spoilers, we slowly learned about Rocco’s dog aggression. There were some nights when Cathy went with an injured dog to the vet while I took the injured human to the emergency room. These episodes matched the expense and frustration we had with the speed brakes. If Corbett’s allowance was spent on treatment for his heart and lungs, Rocco’s was spent on vet bills for victims and multiple training schools.

In the end, the Premier was put out of its misery with a bird strike, and we learned to keep Rocco in crates or fenced-in areas. I felt bad about the airplane—who wants to preside over the destruction of any aircraft? We felt obligated to Rocco, though. We knew if we turned him back in, he’d be euthanized. We just couldn’t do it, so he now rides in style in our Cessna CJ1, acting like he’s always owned a jet. Who knows? Maybe his previous owners had a Gulfstream.

The post Rescue Dogs and Airplanes appeared first on FLYING Magazine.