It’s not like I’ve never heard those words before. Things happen at busy airports, and the tower will sometimes throw something at you at the last second. But this was unusual in that I was on short final. No, short final is actually a misnomer in this case. I was over the numbers. Flaps down, gear down, throttle back to 15 inches, trim plus-9 and increasing. I was, quite literally, about to land. Things went a little sideways from there, but let’s back up a minute first.

I was flying a friend to Newark Liberty International Airport (KEWR) so she could catch a commercial flight home. I worked it out so that we’d land before 3 p.m. in New Jersey, avoiding the afternoon rush (and the increased landing fees the Port Authority charges). I filed IFR even though it was clear and a million. Always best to do so when flying into Class B airspace. Many pilots get nervous about flying IFR into busy airspace, but the reality is that it’s far easier than VFR. You’re told what to do and when to do it. It’s actually a great help in regard to workload mitigation. You can’t bust airspace when you’re IFR as they take all the decision-making out of your hands. Well, not all the decision-making. And that’s where my problem was.

It’s a short flight from Sullivan County International Airport (KMSV) in Monticello, New York, to KEWR, and before we even settled into cruise, we were being vectored around for a visual to Runway 11. Approach sent me over to Tower and immediately they asked me to keep my speed up then cleared me to land. I have been in this situation before and, wanting to help out, I do my best to comply. Flying into Newark in a single-engine piston makes you the redheaded stepchild. No way around that. So you do what you can to fit into the fast-moving environment. I maintained 160 kias for as long as I could then had to slow down to get configured for a stable approach. As it was, I did this on the later side. On a 5-mile final, I pitched up and pulled power to get below the 150 kias landing gear actuation speed. We quickly decelerated. The airplane stabilized in no time as I flew my Bo “by the numbers.” In this case, a descent, which means 18 inches manifold pressure and plus-3 on the trim. This setting will always give me a 500 fpm descent with the gear down.

I had heard nothing from the tower since being cleared to land, though I was aware there was a jet behind me. Being just a half mile from the runway, I dumped all the flaps at once and trimmed up to plus-9 to maintain my stabilized approach. Over the numbers I pulled power to idle and was trimming up to plus-12 when Tower told me to go around.

I have been asked to do things on short final before and it’s normally a nonevent. Flying into Van Nuys, California (KVNY), this past spring, I was told to change from 16R to 16L about a mile from the threshold. No problem. Bank left, continue descent, squeak the landing, impress your friends. Like most of us, I’ve also been told to go around more than once. No biggie. But this was different. I looked at my ForeFlight log, and it showed I got as low as 61 feet msl. That’s 44 feet agl at KEWR. This is where that decision-making I mentioned earlier comes into play. I should have simply said, “Unable.” There was no hazard in front of me. I was cleared to land. It was my runway, and I was committed at that point.

I knew full well what was happening: The controller got the spacing wrong and did not want to make the jet behind me go around as he knew I might not exit the runway in time.

• READ MORE: Misses, Near and Far…

It’s that voice-of-God vibe the controllers have. Sometimes you forget you’re allowed to push back. I did what I was told. And this is where it got a bit rough. My aircraft does not have approach flaps. Practically, what this means for me is that I don’t extend flaps on an instrument approach until I know I have the runway made. Why? Because this is the most dangerous, busiest envelope of flight that exists for a GA piston pilot. You’re close to the ground, and the airplane is about to go through some serious aerodynamic changes because of what you’re about to do. It’s a far simpler affair in a Pilatus or TBM. They have as little as one lever. I have three. For this reason, I don’t use flaps until it’s a sure thing since it means there’s one less thing for me to do when transitioning to a missed approach.

So…I acknowledged the go-around while I pulled back on the yoke to stop the descent. I added mixture, prop, and then throttle in quick succession. I retracted the flaps next. She moved around a little bit, but I kept things together and, as the airplane started to climb, I pulled the gear up. Not too bad, I thought. More than usual but not too bad. Except I had forgotten one important item—trim. At plus-12 with a clean airframe and full power, she suddenly shot straight up into the air.

It wasn’t close. No stall warning, but it got my full attention. I pressed forward on the yoke—hard. Forced the nose down as I spun the trim wheel forward with my right hand (not a time for the electric hat) until I felt the pressure subside and entered a normal climb. For a newer pilot, this is exactly how you enter a stall/spin condition.

Tower then sheepishly asked if I could make a short approach. Affirmative. Pulled back throttle to 18 inches and dumped the gear again. Flaps as well. Dove back toward the runway and squeaked the landing. The controller thanked me. No problem.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

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There are exceptions, though, like Sullivan County International Airport (KMSV). Perched on a hilltop, dominating the rural landscape, the complex is easy to spot from 10 miles away—or more. It’s so big that you might expect to call in to ATC as you approach, but the field is non-towered.

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For pilots accustomed to smaller airports, Sullivan’s 6,300-foot runway, which is 150 feet wide with grooved pavement, can seem like an embarrassment of riches. It would be difficult (though far from impossible) for the average 172 driver to overshoot such an enormous strip. Indeed, when I was training for my private, my instructor never took me there because, he said, there was no challenge to it.

After getting my certificate I began flying there regularly while hopscotching the region to collect hours and practice takeoffs and landings. I often wondered how many consecutive touch-and-gos I could perform on that long runway but never tested the concept.

Years later, when working toward endorsements for complex and high-performance aircraft, we made several visits to KMSV because the setting gives pilots extra space, physically and psychologically, to focus on handling, speed control, and other tasks besides simply getting on the ground safely. This is why the airport is also a popular destination among pilots pursuing instrument ratings or practicing approaches to stay current. There’s a little more breathing room.

• READ MORE: Why Haven’t You Flown to Ellenville Yet?

Tranquility might also be an attraction for advanced students. The radio is usually quiet, and you often have the pattern to yourself. I have rarely encountered other traffic at Sullivan, even though the place was designed to handle swarms of private aircraft and regional airline operations.

Located in Bethel, about 90 miles northwest of New York City, the airport opened in 1969, which was, by coincidence, just in time for the original Woodstock music festival. Longtime residents still talk about helicopters shuttling performers from the airport to the venue just a few miles away. While classic images of Woodstock focus on concert goers parking their Volkswagen vans on the side of the road and hiking to Max Yasgur’s farm, lots of folks also arrived in private aircraft.

The long-term plan behind the airport’s development was aimed at breathing new life into the vacation resort industry that dominated the Catskills region for decades through the middle of the 20th century. By the 1960s, operators of hundreds of Catskills resorts could feel a downward trend in the industry. Growing popularity of new destinations like the Carribean islands, made accessible by mainstream air travel, drove a significant shift in the market.

County and state officials worked with operators of the biggest resorts to push the airport plan, figuring the general aviation boom would bring in more travelers. Small airlines began using the airport as well. The former regional carrier Mohawk Airlines flew routes between KMSV and numerous destinations including Montreal and Toronto, which put International in the airport’s name.

But the airport never really hummed with activity the way its developers envisioned. Gradually the old resorts yielded under the weight of changing preferences, and the airport grew quiet.

Today there are still lots of things to do in the Catskills, like hiking, shopping, dining and going to shows. Like many upstate towns, Bethel and nearby Monticello saw an influx of former city dwellers during the pandemic. Air traffic still swells considerably during the summer, an employee told me. Interestingly, one of the biggest draws, he said, is Bethel Woods, an arts and entertainment center built on the former Woodstock site.

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