There’s a subset of the population that simply craves excess and revels in abundance.

While that may be true for some jet-setting globetrotters, in the world of GA aircraft ownership, such thinking is relatively rare. Big airplanes have correspondingly big fuel tanks that cost big money to top off.

But what if your mission calls for heavy iron? What if your top priority was to own and fly the biggest airplane possible?

Here in the U.S., such dreams are complicated somewhat by an FAA regulation that requires in-depth training and certification—known as a type rating—to fly jet aircraft or any aircraft with a maximum takeoff weight in excess of 12,500 pounds. While structured, thorough training isn’t necessarily something one should avoid, the regulation begs the question: What are some of the biggest aircraft types a typical private pilot could fly without crossing that threshold and having to undergo such training?

Here, we explore your options if size were prioritized over the typical factors we consider during an aircraft purchase:

Cessna 208 Caravan

Ask just about any Caravan pilot how it flies, and they will invariably describe the big Cessna as nothing more than an oversized 182.

Simple systems, docile handling, and flight characteristics  similar to just about every Cessna produced with tricycle gear define the Caravan. Those who fly them for a living might lament the presence of a propeller or the lack of a swept wing, but they’re always quick to praise it overall.

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First flown in 1982, the Caravan continued a trend that arguably began with the growth of the 172 into ever-larger variants. After the 172 and 182 first flew in 1956, subsequent larger versions appeared in the ’60s, including the 205, 206, and 207. Popular in remote, rugged regions like Alaska, these workhorses earned a solid reputation for reliably moving people and cargo into and out of challenging areas—and doing so economically. The Caravan is known as “the flying Swiss Army knife” because of its versatility.

As these models sold through the ’70s, Cessna began exploring a larger, clean-sheet development that would utilize a Pratt & Whitney Canada PT6A turbine powerplant. The resulting model 208 Caravan saw immediate success—initially in the original configuration as a nine-to-13-passenger aircraft, but particularly after 

FedEx ordered 177 cargo variants a short time later.

Most private owners opt for the standard passenger version or the lengthened Grand Caravan with additional seating. The cabin can be configured with high-density seating for utilitarian operations or plush club seating that resembles the seating arrangement of private jets. With full-fuel payloads in excess of 1,000 pounds and an available belly pod that enables the transport of baggage without cluttering up the cabin, overnight trips with friends become simple and straightforward.

Perhaps the most impressive aspect of the Caravan, however, is how simple and straightforward it is to exercise such capability. Even the Grand Caravan, with its nearly 9,000-pound maximum takeoff weight, 

performs as predictably as a four-seat 182. Transitions into the big Cessna are simplified with modern Garmin avionics, and the type is popular enough that qualified training is easy to find.

One of the Caravan’s most intriguing aspects is the availability of Wipaire amphibious floats. Equally capable of operating from land or water, these enable anyone with a seaplane rating to access an even wider variety of destinations–and have fun doing it.

One Caravan amphibian owner inbound to this year’s EAA AirVenture was reportedly notified of an incident at the airport and instructed to hold around a lake for an estimated 45 minutes. Making the best of the situation, the pilot simply landed on the lake, shut down, and went for a swim with his friends until arrivals were allowed in.

If that’s not a fun way to operate a big airplane, we don’t know what is. 

Grumman Goose

While the Cessna Caravan can achieve some impressive things with its amphibious floats, there’s something to be said for a pure flying boat—particularly one with the lineage and soul of a classic 1930s-era Grumman Goose. A product of aviation’s golden age, developed in the era of barnstormers, airmail, and art deco style, the Goose was one of four twin-engine flying boats of Grumman fame.

The model that most people are familiar with is the hulking, 37,500-pound HU-16 Albatross. Designed to perform rescue operations for the U.S. Coast Guard, it was able to handle rough seas in the open ocean and handily exceeded the 12,500-pound limit for this exercise. The rare G-73 Mallard was the next size down in the Grumman flying boat lineup, and at 12,750 pounds, it only just exceeded our weight limit.

• READ MORE: EAA AirVenture: A Study in Cargo and Packing

The G-21 Goose, on the other hand, weighs in at a respectable 8,000 pounds and thus qualifies for our list of big aircraft for private pilots. Powered by two 9-cylinder Pratt & Whitney R-985 Wasp Junior radial engines that each produce 450 hp, the Goose produces a sound and feel like no horizontally opposed piston or smooth-running turboprop can match. After flying a classic airplane with engines like this, nearly every alternative seems to have the soul of an Amana dishwasher.

There are certain advantages to a flying boat over an airplane with floats. Because the fuselage itself serves as the hull, the center of gravity sits much lower than that of a float plane. This increases stability in the water and, depending on the specific design, can withstand rougher seas. 

Additionally, the lack of external floats and braces can make a flying boat more aerodynamically efficient than an airplane on floats. For example, the Goose can cruise at just over 190 mph, while a Beech 18 on floats—using the same engines—can achieve only about 135 mph. Since both burn roughly 50 gallons per hour in cruise, the Goose’s faster speed makes it the more economical of the two on a given trip.

Of course, the mention of economy is laughable in the context of the Goose. With tailwheel landing gear, five-to-seven seats, multiple engines, and particularly as a seaplane, obtaining insurance would likely require divine intervention. Alternatively, one could become independently wealthy and self-insure.

But performance numbers and cost savings are not what the Goose is about. The Goose is about transporting you to an entirely different era of aviation on every flight. Reach up and grab the ceiling-mounted throttle levers, peer through the prop arcs just ahead of the cockpit windows, feel the reverberation of the big radials, and you might as well be Indiana Jones on your way to dinner in Monaco after delivering provisions to your team of archeologists in Alexandretta.

de Havilland Canada DHC-6 Twin Otter

Moving up from our 8,000-pound contenders, we finally reach the biggest and heaviest aircraft one can fly without a type rating.

At precisely 12,500 pounds, it’s not a coincidence that the maximum takeoff weight of the de Havilland Twin Otter matches the maximum limit imposed by the FAA. De Havilland correctly reasoned that the Twin Otter would be that much more attractive to prospective customers if it could be flown by pilots without a type rating. 

Not that additional advanced training would be a bad thing for Twin Otter pilots. From the beginning, the 19-passenger twin turboprop was designed to access some of the most inhospitable locations on earth. From Antarctic expeditions to the South Pole to commercial service to the shortest commercial runway in the world to hair-raising mountainside operations in Nepal, the Twin Otter has extreme capability, and operators use every bit of it.

If outdoor apparel manufacturer The North Face made an airplane, this would be it.

• READ MORE: The Pros and Cons of Aircraft Towing Solutions

Fundamentally, the Twin Otter differs from other similarly sized twin turboprops in its short takeoff and landing (STOL) performance. With a published STOL takeoff distance of only 1,200 feet to clear a 50-foot obstacle and 1,050 feet for landing over the same 50-foot obstacle, the short-field capability is astounding. 

In comparison, the non-STOL Embraer EMB-110 Bandeirante, with the same engines and the same passenger capacity, requires 2,648 feet and 2,848 feet, respectively.

Everything comes at a price, and this capability is no exception. Equipped with big double-slotted Fowler flaps and drooping ailerons, the wing is optimized for low-speed flight and, consequently, is less efficient at higher speeds. Additionally, the exposed wing struts and fixed landing gear, while lightweight and durable, add more drag to the equation. Ultimately, you can expect a maximum cruise speed of around 160 knots.

The Twin Otter is as versatile as it is capable. Standard landing gear enables operation from rough, unimproved runways. Lightweight straight floats provide water access without much of a payload penalty, while fully amphibious floats are able to be flown from land or water. Similarly, both straight skis and wheel skis are utilized in harsh winter climates like Antarctica.

The end result is perhaps analogous to a heavily modified Jeep Wrangler rock crawler. This is a machine laser-focused on extreme capability, able to access places few others can.

If you want fast, comfortable, long-distance transit, there are far better alternatives. But if you want the ability to take a group of friends and a few weeks of camping supplies deep into the wilderness via short, rudimentary airstrips, the Twin Otter is tough to beat.

Beechcraft King Air 260

Take a survey of the most common mission profiles of most aircraft owners, and you’ll find that landing on mountaintop airstrips in Nepal and delivering supplies to the South Pole tend to rank toward the bottom of the list.

More likely, buyers will be interested in fast, comfortable transportation between well-established metropolitan airports. And if their passengers are able to watch cat videos on Instagram and take naps along the way, all the better.

This is where a proven performer with all-around usability comes into play, and few are as proven as Beechcraft’s King Air family. With lineage extending back to the Twin Bonanza that first flew in 1949, the platform evolved into the ’50s-era, piston-powered Queen Air before culminating in the turboprop King Air family that remains in production today.

While many variations of the King Air have been produced over the years, the line can generally be divided into three primary variants.

The entry-level 90, with seven seats and a 10,100-pound maximum takeoff weight, is commonly positioned as a step up from cabin-class piston twins. Excluding the commuter airline variants like the Model 99 and the 1900, the largest King Air is the 350, with seating for 11 and a maximum takeoff weight of 15,000 pounds or more.

Splitting the gap is the midrange 200-series, exemplified by the King Air 260. Like the Twin Otter, it features a maximum takeoff weight of precisely 12,500 pounds, eliminating the need for type-rated pilots. When it comes to real-world, cross-country capability without a type rating, few options are as refined and proven as this King Air series.

The basic formula hasn’t changed much over the years. Combine two Pratt & Whitney PT6 turboprop powerplants, a roomy cabin with comfortable club seating, and docile, well-mannered handling qualities, and you’ve got a flexible performer that, unsurprisingly, has been successful for decades.

One sign of Beechcraft’s quality is the U.S. military’s continued allegiance to the brand.

Over the years, the Bonanza, Baron, Twin Bonanza, Queen Air, and King Air have all found roles in various branches of the armed forces. If ever there was a “mil-spec” airplane, this would be it, and it’s telling that direct competitors like the Cessna Conquest and Piper Cheyenne never followed suit.

With an avionics suite that includes autothrottles, digital pressurization, and synthetic vision, the newly updated 260 reduces workload, making it easier than ever to manage in flight. In the end, this King Air just might be the single closest thing to a private jet available to fly for pilots without a type rating.

Antonov An-2 Colt

Life isn’t all about sensibility and economic viability. Not all of us dream of flying IFR from one perfectly manicured resort town to another.

In a world of smooth yacht rock and clean-cut golf tournaments, some of us long for Metallica and Burning Man.

For this subset of the flying population, the Antonov An-2 is just the ticket. First flown in 1947 and produced in largely unchanged form for approximately 50 years, this monster taildragger was to the Soviet Union what the C-47 was to the U.S.—a rugged, dependable transport that can survive multiple wars and rise to just about any challenge.

With a maximum takeoff weight of 11,993 pounds, it falls just under our weight limit and is, therefore, a natural contender for one of the largest aircraft one can fly without a type rating.

Since its introduction just after World War II, the An-2 has worn many hats, serving as an airliner, military transport, firefighter, crop duster, and even an armed attack aircraft. Nearly 20,000 examples were built in Russia, Poland, and China. Provided you have the means of shipping and importing goods from those parts of the world, spare parts are plentiful.

Everything about the An-2 is massive, unrefined, and utilitarian. The 9-cylinder Shvetsov ASh-62 engine, a development of the Wright R-1820 Cyclone that powered the Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress and Grumman HU-16 Albatross, produces just over 1,000 hp at takeoff power. While doing so, it consumes a staggering 110 gallons per hour.

According to those fortunate enough to have logged time in the beast, attempting to wrangle it through steep turns and crosswind landings is not unlike trying to ride an inebriated water buffalo through a museum’s display of priceless antiquities and fine china. Significant upper body strength is required, and at times, one wishes for a third arm to keep everything running properly. Once finally established in a given phase of flight, things unfold both slowly and deliberately. 

Slow flight is, in fact, one of the An-2’s greatest strengths. With an estimated stall speed of only 35-40 knots and a kite-like 770 feet of wing area, it requires just over 500 feet of runway for takeoff and slightly more for landing. The kite-like qualities turn against you in crosswinds, however, with anything more than 8 knots described as “intolerable.” Taxiing in winds greater than 20 knots is said to be impossible.

Finding a rational reason to purchase such a machine requires searching one’s heart and ignoring one’s brain. For nearly any mission, there exists a more logical and economical alternative. However, logic and economy are simply not significant factors for those who own and love the An-2. 

Instead, this belching, oily anachronism is itself an experience. The purchase could perhaps be justified during preparation for the onset of a Mad Max-style zombie apocalypse scenario, wherein a large aircraft is needed to survive the harshest conditions imaginable with limited maintenance support.

But otherwise, one purchases an An-2 simply to enjoy the An-2.

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

The post Planes That Are Not Too Big for Fun appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Such a design did emerge in the late 1930s, but the designer, Charles Zimmerman, was not insane. On the contrary, his unconventional vision, which became the Vought V-173 and was nicknamed the “Flying Pancake,” did, in fact, come to fruition. Not only did it fly, but it demonstrated remarkable performance.

The overall concept was as unique as the design.

The U.S. Navy was intrigued by the idea of a fighter that could operate from ships other than massive aircraft carriers. This capability would enable the Navy to deploy fighters from nearly anywhere and in huge numbers. Motivated to explore this consent, the Navy solicited design proposals.

As it happened, Zimmerman had already been toying with a unique design that could provide the perfect blend of capabilities. When the request came in, he was working as a senior designer at Vought. Vought tasked him with designing and building a quarter-scale prototype of his concept to evaluate as the basis for the Navy’s request.

Enabling an aircraft to take off and land at such short distances requires a lot of lift. Fortunately, Zimmerman’s design was nearly all wing.

The V-173 prototype would ultimately weigh just over 3,000 pounds fully loaded, with a massive 427 square feet of wing area. By comparison, a 3,100-pound Cessna 182T has only 174 square feet of wing area. While the 182’s wing loading is approximately 14 pounds per square foot, the V-173’s was just over 5. The V-173 was kite-like by comparison. 

With such ample lift, only modest power would be required. Zimmerman chose two small and light 4-cylinder Continental A80 piston engines. Their small size enabled them to be buried within the saucer-like fuselage.

Zimmerman wasn’t finished. To further reduce takeoff and landing distances, two enormous propellers bathed the entire airframe in propwash, generating lift even at a standstill. The result? A landing speed of only 22 mph and the capability of taking off nearly vertically with typical wind over a ship’s deck.

One interesting challenge to operating such a unique aircraft was the forward visibility on the ground—or the lack thereof.

Compared to a typical taildragger’s resting deck angle of around 5 degrees, the V-173 sat at an extreme 22 degrees. This would eliminate all forward vision if not for the addition of windows on the underside of the nose by the pilot’s feet. When on the ground, the pilot simply looked downward, past his feet, and could see the path ahead.

The V-173 would go on to amass some 131 hours of flight time. A variety of pilots flew it, including Charles Lindbergh. At one point, a fuel issue resulted in a forced landing on a beach. While the airplane flipped over onto its back, neither the airplane nor test pilot were significantly harmed.

With a substantial amount of testing completed, Vought built the marginally larger and massively more powerful XF5U.

While the wingspan was only approximately 30 percent greater than the V-173, it was fitted with two 1,350 hp Pratt & Whitney Twin Wasp radial engines, as found on the 44-passenger Douglas DC-4. The subsequent addition of F4U Corsair propellers and an ejection seat resulted in a max takeoff weight of nearly 19,000 pounds.

The XF5U would never truly take flight, however—it only ever conducted taxi tests and short hops in ground effect.

Both examples would ultimately be scrapped, and the V-173 placed into long-term storage. Charles Zimmerman went on to become a division chief for Project Mercury at NASA and was later named director of aeronautics, where he completed his 38 years of service with NASA.

Fortunately, the diminutive V-173 would not only survive but would later be resurrected.

In 2003, the Vought Aircraft Heritage Foundation began a nearly 10-year-long restoration of the aircraft, stripping it down to its wooden airframe and replacing the fabric entirely. Today, the resplendent V-173 stands proudly on display at the Frontiers of Flight Museum in Dallas.

The post The U.S. Navy’s Unconventional ‘Flying Pancake’ Fighter appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Predictably, less common aircraft types tend to have fewer STCs to choose from. More popular types, however, might have several hundred that have been developed and offered over the years, particularly if the type was produced for a long period of time. 

Curious about what STCs have been approved for my Cessna 170B since the type was introduced in 1952, I moseyed over to the FAA’s somewhat clunky STC database. There, I typed in “170B” in the model/series field and was presented with 377 results.

Fortunately, the list was downloadable, and I went to work sorting and exploring them to find the most unusual STCs of all.

Tricycle-Gear Conversion

The predecessor to the massively successful Cessna 172 Skyhawk was a taildragger that was nearly identical—the Cessna 170. But before Cessna introduced their tricycle-gear 172, a company called Met-Co-Aire spotted the untapped market and introduced a tricycle-gear conversion for the 170.

The end result was a Cessna 170 with tall, ungainly tricycle gear. The awkward look came from repurposing the existing main gear legs, simply moving them backward to continue their main gear duties in a different location. The tall gear legs necessitated a correspondingly tall nose gear, and the result is the aesthetic abomination seen here. 

If it’s an abomination in terms of aesthetics, it’s doubly so in spirit. Gone is the elegant stance of the classic taildragger, and gone is the visual connection to aviation’s golden age. In their place comes increased stability on the ground and additional capability in crosswinds. 

It’s unclear exactly how many Cessna 170s were converted in such a manner. What is clear is that all—or almost all—examples have since been converted back to their proper, original configurations. 

Aftermarket Windshield Wiper

I have mixed feelings about this one. I want to hate it, and I want to ridicule it. But if I’m being completely honest, I do very much hate when my vision and focus suffer as I’m peering through a rain-covered windshield.

In 1961, a company called American Concorde Systems figured others would share this opinion. Accordingly, it spent the time and money necessary to have its aftermarket windshield wiper approved for over a dozen Cessna and Beechcraft types, including the 170 series. But to date, I can’t recall ever seeing such an installation in the wild on any of them.

It’s probably for good reason. Faced with the annoyance of water droplets on the windshield, I suspect a healthy treatment of Rain-X would solve 80 percent of the problem with none of the weight, complexity, or cost of installing an aftermarket wiper system. And if the system performs anything like its automotive counterparts, smeared bug guts would instantly create a near-total lack of forward vision.

But you’ve gotta love the creativity that drove such efforts in those days.

Cessna 170-Series Medevac Stretcher

When I discovered the AvFab “Cessna Stretcher” approved for installation in four-place 100-series Cessnas, as well as the 205, 206, 207, and 210, disaster relief and humanitarian aid efforts were the furthest thing from my mind. Instead, I immediately envisioned the ultimate Oshkosh camping solution.

Designed to replace the front passenger seat entirely, with the pillow area resting atop the rear bench seat, this stretcher is intended for the transport of individuals in need of medical treatment. But when I look at it, I see a solution that would eliminate the need for tents, cots, and sleeping pads at EAA AirVenture—a solution that would keep you high and dry no matter how strong the Wisconsin thunderstorms might be on any given year.

Alas, a closer look and a request for a price quote revealed disappointing news—the stretcher sells for a stupefying $8,794. Clearly, this item was priced with American medical insurance in mind. Not private aircraft owners. With that nine grand stuffed into my savings account, I think I’ll sleep just fine with my current tent setup.

Burglar Alarm System

The early 1990s were a wild time. Vanilla Ice was topping the charts, The Arsenio Hall Show was in full swing, and car audio installers were raking in cash from the installation of Alpine car stereos, Cerwin-Vega speakers, car phones, and car alarms. Equipped with such luxuries, all that was left was to lean back and look cool in your Ford Mustang 5.0.

GA aircraft largely escaped Vanilla Ice and 10-inch woofers—but not alarms. In 1991, a company called Thompson Aero Security secured an STC for a dedicated aircraft burglar alarm. Details are scarce, but the STC is mentioned in discussions and documents spanning a wide variety of aircraft types, from Cessnas to Citabrias to Swifts to Seabees. 

Do I have any need for such an alarm system? Despite the investment I’ve got in my beautiful Garmin panel, I can’t imagine the wailing of a random obnoxious alarm would send many bystanders running to foil such a property theft crime. But then again, it would be pretty funny to walk toward a buddy on the ramp after parking, pull out a small keyring fob, press a button, and be rewarded with the chirp-chirp from my plane’s alarm system behind me.

‘Wings with Springs’

This one is downright insane. In the 1950s, a man named Earl Metzler devised a suspension system for aircraft wings. Marketing it as a gust alleviation system that provided a smoother ride, increased stability, easier “steep and quick turns,” and slower landings, he called his system “Wings with Springs” and, in 1964, was awarded an STC for Cessna 170 through 182 models.

The design frightens me. The wing spar is modified to incorporate hinges at the wing roots and oil-damped nitrogen-filled cylinders to the base of each wing strut. Sitting stationary on the ground, a visible droop is apparent, with each wing sagging noticeably. A company brochure states that, in flight, the “wing tip will elevate to three and one-half feet above the level position.”

Apparently, the system did indeed provide some measure of comfort in bumpy air. Nevertheless, not enough airplane owners were convinced that the benefit was worth adding additional parts, complexity, and potential points of failure to their wings, and by all accounts, only a handful of systems were sold and installed.

Today, there’s no evidence of any Wings with Springs systems remaining installed or in active use. But at least one Cessna 170B retains the STC approval despite being returned to its standard factory design…and the STC is still active on the FAA’s registry.

This means that the current STC holder could, in theory, resume production and sales of this crazy modification.

The post Seeing Your Aircraft Through the Lens of Odd Mods appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

When I first visited in 1998 or so, my mind boggled at the incredible variety of flying rarities on display, and with my cheap film camera in hand, I pursued them all with ferocity. Now, having stalked and captured the most intriguing specimens—and having met new friends every year—AirVenture has become an annual reunion of some of my favorite people in the world.

Historically, I’d spend the week wandering around the grounds, either encountering friends entirely by chance or by arranging various meeting times and locations (1 p.m. in the shade beneath the Piaggio Royal Gull, for example). But now, with an airplane of my own, everything has changed.

Namely, I now make a point to create my very own underwing patio. A gathering place with cool shade, comfy chairs, ice-cold drinks, and pleasant company. Having set up and hosted such meeting spots for three years, I believe I’ve discovered some of the most crucial elements. 

Nemo Stargaze Reclining Camp Chair ($250)

When it comes to items that separate you from the ground, I believe it’s well worth spending a premium for the good stuff. Tires, mattresses, shoes, rock-climbing rope, and parachutes come to mind. This is a category where the cheapest options can create experiences that are miserable at best or disastrous at worst.

In the world of folding chairs, it seems quality is proportional to cost. After researching and sampling many various options, I’ve finally arrived at the Nemo Stargaze reclining camp chair. While pricey at $250, this is one of those items you buy once and enjoy forever. The perfect design and sleep-inducing comfort endure long after you’ve forgotten about the money you’ve spent. 

Like most folding chairs, the Stargaze packs down into a smaller zippered carrying bag. It doesn’t pack down quite as small as some chairs out there, but it’s a worthy price to pay for sublime comfort. It’s also quick and easy to set up, with no tricky fitments or overly tight tolerances to annoy you. At night, to prevent the chair from becoming soaked in dew, it only takes a few seconds to unclip the two anchor points and toss the fabric part into a tent.

I bought a couple of extras for friends, and everyone remarked about how comfy they were. With dedicated pockets for a drink and a phone, everyone settles in, and few look forward to getting back up.

Solar-Powered String Lights ($33)

On a warm summer night with a light breeze and sparkling conversation, it’s really nice to add just a bit of ambiance. In typical camping environments, a campfire is ideal—but with 40 or so gallons of 100LL just overhead, there are better options. 

I’m a fan of the Lepro brand string lights I found on Amazon. With solar power, the lights charge up during the day and then turn on at night. I hang mine up beneath the wing and simply set the small solar panel on top of the plane.

There is one downside. They won’t turn on until the photocell is convinced it’s completely dark out. This is annoying, as I find myself wanting the lights to turn on about an hour or two before they do. Accordingly, I have to use tape to cover the photocell as dusk settles in.

I put up with the annoyance, however, because unlike many string lights out there, the Lepros have a nice, warm, golden glow despite being LEDs. This creates a pleasant atmosphere that you really appreciate after seeing other LED string lights that have a high color temperature.

This year, for example, one camping neighbor’s harsh whitish-blue lights created an atmosphere every bit as charming as a vape shop in a strip mall, whereas my campsite was warm and inviting.

Pelican 30-Quart Elite Cooler ($250)

Icy-cold drinks are critical in hot, humid Wisconsin summers.

The first year I attended AirVenture as an airplane owner, I brought along a cheap styrofoam cooler to keep drinks chilled. It lasted about three days before cracking and being rendered useless.

The subsequent hunt for the perfect cooler was more complex than I expected. I wanted the perfect size—small enough to fit into my back seat for transport, yet big enough to hold a fair amount of beverages. I also decided I wanted one that performed well, as it would be sitting outside in the sun all day, every day.

I decided on the Pelican 30-quart Elite cooler. Compared to the equivalent Yeti, it has thicker walls, and I reasoned this equates to better insulation. It also has more robust latches and features some shallow cup holders on top that make it a decent side table or ottoman when closed.

I ordered white to better reflect the sun throughout the day, and it has performed beautifully. I typically add a small bag of ice once per day, which is more than necessary. Now, two years into ownership, I can’t find a single aspect to complain about.

Alps Mountaineering Camp Table ($80)

A good underwing table is the least exciting item on the list but also arguably the most useful.

Whether used to brew coffee, prepare meals, or simply keep everyday items in a handy, orderly state, it earns its keep every day. The trick is finding one that is perfectly sized for GA camping.

At 28 inches square and 27 inches tall, the Alps Mountaineering Camp Table fits the bill. Even better, it quickly collapses into a 7.5-by-4-by-28-inch pouch for transport and, with its aluminum construction, weighs only 6 pounds. The top can be easily removed and hosed off if needed, and while parts of it are plastic, everything appears to be relatively robust and durable.  

I’ve found that a good camp table isn’t truly valued until you’ve used it—and then you have to go without it. Suddenly, things like food, phone chargers, sunscreen, and all the random miscellanea that one compiles throughout the day begin to collect on the ground and in various corners of the aircraft cabin. It’s one item I’m happy to have along on any camping trip.

Anker Power Station ($329-$600)

As airplane campsites at AirVenture lack any kind of power, keeping devices charged has always been a challenge.

Historically, my strategy was to use two small 20,000 mAh power banks, leaving one plugged into a communal charging station overnight—unattended—while using the other. While this did keep my phone charged, it became annoying to monitor the charge levels of each, hoping to find an available outlet at the charging station…and then hoping it wouldn’t grow legs and walk away.

This year, I went nuclear. Not literally, although the power output of my big Anker C1000 1,056 watt-hour (Wh) charging station sometimes has me guessing. While expensive, there is another option at $600, only $100 more than the next smaller option, and I like to err on the side of more capacity.

I wasn’t sure about how much capacity I’d actually need. I knew I’d have a guest in their own tent next to my plane for the week, and I knew that we both wanted to keep our devices fully charged. I also knew that, as a good host, I’d like to be able to offer a top-off to friends stopping by for a visit.

For nine days, I did all of these things—and ended up using less than half of the C1000’s total capacity of 1,056 Wh. So, I clearly overbought. The upside? Now, I know I can run a couple of small fans at future AirVentures to keep cool and keep mosquitos away.

So, based on my own mission requirements, the smaller $500 Anker C800 Plus, with 768 Wh of capacity, would easily suffice while saving me money. For just one person, the even smaller Anker 535, with 512 Wh of capacity, would likely be just fine.

Regardless of which model you choose, having all the power you need right at your airplane for a week or more is a total game changer. 

The post 5 of the Best Pieces of Gear for Epic Underwing Camping appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Beginning with bicycles and radio-controlled cars in grade school, I’d pore through various magazines and create elaborate custom builds on paper with meticulous detail. I would typically conduct these exercises during class because, frankly, mitochondria and the Louisiana Purchase simply couldn’t compete with CODA Magic cranksets and Novak electronic speed controllers.  

Later, after serving several sentences of detention for my inattention in class—during which I continued my builds—I moved on to motorcycles. Before long, I had acquired a BMW R1150GS Adventure and had outfitted it as a formidable overland touring motorcycle. I rode that bike around Lake Superior three times and even from Wisconsin to Maine and back before graduating to the pinnacle of expensive, motorized hobbies: aircraft ownership.

• READ MORE: Life Lessons and Surviving a Fight With Sheet Metal Screws

The progression has been rewarding, and I’ve learned that airplanes are even more satisfying to learn, modify, evaluate, and master than land-based machines.

General aviation airplanes provide an intriguing balance of new technology and historical design. I also appreciate how, like bicycles, most airplanes are simple enough for even minor changes and modifications to be readily apparent to the user. Change a set of control arms on a two-ton BMW packed to the gills with electronic wizardry and tomblike cabin insulation, and you might not even notice the change. But installing some tiny vortex generators or 10 pounds of tail ballast in many airplanes will completely transform the flying experience. 

As I’ve been modifying my Cessna 170 over the past few years, I’ve enjoyed evaluating each upgrade and change individually. Thus far, the McCauley seaplane propeller, Alaskan Bushwheels, and Garmin panel have been the most impressive. But it’s particularly interesting to evaluate and understand the interplay between these changes—how one modification might unexpectedly affect another.

The most striking example of this involves my Garmin GI 275 EIS engine monitor and the aforementioned McCauley seaplane propeller. Both are outstanding upgrades, but now, having flown with both for over a year, I would never want to install the prop without the engine monitor.

• READ MORE: 5 of the Best Pieces of Gear for Epic Underwing Camping

The concern, I’ve come to learn, involves cylinder head temperatures (CHTs). I had an expensive and unfortunate lesson in CHT monitoring on my first lesson in my airplane. The incident resulted in an unexpected top overhaul of my engine and gave me an appreciation for the value of a good engine monitor. 

The flatter-pitch seaplane prop introduces huge capability and performance gains for a relatively small investment but also demands careful monitoring of CHTs during climbs. Because the engine turns so much faster during takeoff and climb, the engine becomes hotter. This is exacerbated by the correspondingly lower speeds in climb and cruise. 

The difference was eye-opening. On warm summer days, if I simply select maximum throttle for takeoff and keep it there up to cruise altitudes as I did with the standard prop, it’s quite easy to exceed 425 degrees CHT. Had I kept the old digital gauge that displayed just one cylinder—

and did so down on the lower section of the panel—it’s questionable how evident this would be.

The GI 275 EIS, on the other hand, displays each cylinder’s information in bright, crisp color, making it clear and easy to understand, even at a quick glance. Just as importantly, it’s mounted up high on the panel, bringing the information front and center. Positioned here, trends are instantly evident—and particularly when colors change from green to yellow or from yellow to red, they don’t go unnoticed.

Armed with such comprehensive, real-time information about the state of each individual cylinder, I’ve adjusted my flying accordingly. No longer do I simply set the throttle and leave it there for the duration of the climb. Instead, I massage my climb rate and throttle setting to keep my CHTs below 400 degrees.

This requires some concerted effort. It feels odd to reduce power at 1,000 feet agl, and it feels even more odd to momentarily level off at 1,500 feet agl to build airspeed and keep the cylinders cool. But any annoyance is quickly erased by the satisfaction of knowing that the engine is happy and properly cared for.

I love my seaplane prop and unwaveringly recommend it to anyone with a Continental C-145 or O-300 engine. It transforms the thrust and takeoff performance of a 145 hp airplane for a tiny fraction of the cost of an upgraded engine. But it has become clear that the prop alone is an incomplete modification. Without a corresponding engine monitor, pitfalls emerge, and an unsuspecting pilot could learn some lessons the hard way.

So there you have it. Evidence that one fun upgrade can easily justify another. And evidence that a grade-schooler’s time spent poring over their favorite hobbyist magazines during class can pay off later in life. 

The post The Interplay of Upgrades appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

But on a late-afternoon flight through the Wisconsin countryside last week, it did cross my mind.

It’s not that I didn’t have permission to land at the private grass strip. It’s that Shane, the person who granted me permission to land there, wasn’t technically the owner. And while I was somewhat confident his permission was sufficient, I knew it probably wouldn’t hold up in court.

I first met Shane at a fundraising event hosted by the Wisconsin Aviation Hall of Fame, a nonprofit dedicated to collecting and preserving the state’s aviation history. They were unveiling a new collection of 34,000 historic photographs being put on public display. These never-before-seen images are a true treasure trove, and I’ll be featuring some of the more notable finds in future installments of History’s Unique Aircraft.

• READ MORE: Wisconsin Aviation Hall of Fame Launches Photo Digitization Campaign

Shane and I started chatting, and I learned that he is the president of the local Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA) chapter. We began discussing some of the lesser-known private airfields in the area. I mentioned how I’d always wanted to fly into one particularly nice-looking one east of Madison called Der Schwarzwald Airport (5WI3) but hadn’t yet reached out to the owner to ask for permission. 

Turning to face me directly, Shane then bowed his head and ceremoniously touched the edge of his hand to each of my shoulders, one after the other. “I hereby anoint you an officially approved visitor to Der Schwarzwald,” he said. As it turned out, he was friends with one of the owners of the airfield, and I was now welcome to drop in anytime.

I thanked him and repeated the ritual for him, granting permission to visit my private home airfield anytime. With the formalities, such as they were, out of the way, we continued our chat about exploring the area and enjoyed the rest of the event before parting ways and heading home. 

A few weeks later, on a picture-perfect Sunday with ample sun and not even the slightest puff of wind, I decided to go check out Der Schwarzwald for the first time. It occurred to me that I could, out of an abundance of caution, give Steve a call to confirm I still had permission to do so. It also occurred to me that I could look up the registered owner of the airfield on airnav.com and check in with them, as well.

But it was a beautiful afternoon, and I didn’t want to spend it on the phone. 

Before long, I was trundling over to the airfield, throttled back to around 90 mph with the windows open and enjoying one of the last looks at Wisconsin’s lush greenery. In only a matter of weeks, the crops would be cut down, and the carpet of emerald foliage would explode into fiery autumn colors.

• READ MORE: That Time When WACO Designers Went a Little Crazy

No matter how pleasant the weather might always be in places like San Diego, the ever-present anticipation of the changing environment and emerging seasons around the Great Lakes might be even more enviable. 

As I approached the unfamiliar airfield, I got down to business. Shane said there were no unique characteristics or hazards with which one should be concerned, only mentioning an incline on one end of the runway. Still, I was on high alert, watching for any radio towers as well as for any traffic. There was, after all, no published common traffic advisory frequency (CTAF) to use, and folks in those parts often flew airplanes without electrical systems, radios, or ADS-B. 

I overflew the field and entered a left downwind for Runway 4, making a note of the completely limp windsock. When I was abeam my touchdown point, I spotted three individuals walking around one of the hangars at the end of the runway. An early, straight-tail 172 sat outside of the hangar. 

When they stopped walking and peered upward, shielding their eyes to get a better look at me, I wondered whether Shane had passed on the news of my invite. And just like the discomfort one might sense when walking uninvited up someone’s driveway and into their backyard, I began to feel like an unwelcome intruder. With any luck, I thought, they’d be friendly, and bail money wouldn’t be necessary at all.

• READ MORE: 5 of the Best Pieces of Gear for Epic Underwing Camping

I reduced my throttle to just above idle, making a fairly short, constant turn from downwind to final. Thanks to the 170B’s 40-degree flap setting, it’s fairly easy to do so in a stable manner while allowing the airspeed to bleed down to the 60 mph short-field approach speed recommended by the book. 

Rolling out on short final, I saw what Shane was talking about when he referred to the incline. Sure enough, the first 500 feet of Runway 4 was, from my perspective, a rather steep uphill grade. This had the effect of making the rest of the runway a plateau, and I quickly added power, readjusting my aiming point to a position beyond the crest of the hill. 

With close to 3,000 feet to play with, it was no big deal at all, and the lack of wind helped me to execute a wheel landing that made it appear as though I knew what I was doing. Taxiing back to the hangar, the individuals I had spotted from the air were there waiting.

Fortunately, they were all smiles. And unarmed.

• READ MORE: The Unusual Evolution of the Fairchild C-123 Provider

As it turned out, one of them was someone I had once met. His name was Al, and in addition to being one of the owners of the airfield, he was also the owner of an extraordinarily rare airplane, a Wing Derringer. Back in 2015, I spotted it on a flight tracking website, stalked him via the FAA database, and cold-called him to ask permission to photograph it. He happily agreed to meet for a photo shoot at the large regional airport in the area, and after using the shots for a History’s Unique Aircraft article, I sent him a few prints as thanks.

Al and his companions were just as welcoming as can be. They promptly provided me with a tour of the hangar and also of Al’s office, where one of my Derringer prints was proudly on display. His office walls were decorated in his own painted art, recollecting his time spent maintaining F-105 Thunderchiefs for the Air Force. The big windows offered a panoramic view of the runway. The place was idyllic—a little slice of heaven, peaceful, utterly silent, and smelling of freshly cut grass.

• READ MORE: When Unforeseen Circumstances Threaten to Derail Amazing Experiences

It was an enjoyable visit spent reminiscing about airplanes, friends, and events from the past. Al and the others spun tales from the airfield’s history, recalling how one of them used to keep a Mooney in one of the hangars and how they used to host formal get-togethers more frequently back then. They also provided some valuable local lore, like how the odd mechanical turbulence that results from easterly winds can create some concerning moments during takeoff for the unsuspecting pilot.

With the sun sinking ever lower on the horizon, I signaled the beginning of my departure with the standard, Upper-Midwestern, “Well, I suppose…” The residents reassured me that I was always welcome to stop by. A few minutes later, as I climbed out after takeoff, a glance downward revealed a flurry of enthusiastic, full-arm waves from alongside the runway, bidding me goodbye.

No complaints. No scolding. And certainly no bail money. It was about as good as an unannounced landing at someone’s private airfield could be.

The post Unannounced Landings and the Need for Bail Money appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In 1947, however, WACO’s designers and engineers went a little crazy.

Like so many other manufacturers of the era, the company became motivated to introduce a new “personal aircraft,” targeting the scores of pilots returning from World War II. This customer base, with a unique blend of pilot qualifications and disposable income, tantalized the marketing departments of aircraft manufacturers across the country.

To stand out from the rest, WACO designed a four-place aircraft with a front-mounted single engine that drove a pusher propeller in the tail and named it the Aristocraft.

Predictably, the company touted a long list of performance advantages.

It claimed that the unique engine/propeller arrangement reduced drag, minimized propeller noise in the cabin, and eliminated the variation between power-on and power-off flight characteristics. It also promoted the ability to load and unload the airplane with the engine running without having to fight propwash, as well as the increased safety margin with the propeller positioned at the extreme aft end of the aircraft.

The airframe construction was traditional, with a metal wing, tail, and control surfaces, and a fabric-covered tubular steel fuselage. WACO subcontracted the still-novel tricycle landing gear to Firestone. It was partially retractable, sacrificing aerodynamic efficiency for utility—should the pilot land with the gear retracted, the airplane would still roll on the wheels, limiting damage to the airframe.

More notable was the powertrain. WACO utilized a 215 hp, 6-cylinder Franklin engine linked to the aft controllable-pitch, reversible propeller through a long driveshaft that extended through a shroud in the cabin. The driveshaft incorporated multiple constant-velocity universal joints with individual pressure-lubricated housings.

Because there was no propeller in the nose to provide cooling air over the engine on the ground, a blower attachment was used to do so.

Naturally, all of these design alterations added weight and complexity, resulting in an empty weight of 2,046 pounds—several hundred pounds heavier than the 1,600- to 1,800-pound range of similarly powered types like the 182, Debonair, and Comanche. Claimed performance wasn’t terrible, however, with a cruise speed of 135 mph at 5,000 feet, a 960 fpm rate of climb, and a 17,500-foot service ceiling. Maximum gross weight was listed as 3,130 pounds, which, when accounting for the 60 gallons of fuel capacity, returns a payload of 724 pounds.

WACO reportedly secured some 300 orders for the Aristocraft, but no production aircraft ever materialized.

Details are scarce, and some sources mention WACO’s inability to cope with a shrinking market. But, considering how unsuccessful other manufacturers were when faced with managing the vibration inherent in similar aircraft designs incorporating long driveshafts, it’s likely the company encountered the same problem, and it shelved the program entirely.

In the early 1960s, the Aristocraft was briefly resurrected, albeit in a different form.

Homebuilder Terry O’Neill converted it into a simpler version that utilized a traditional propeller arrangement for the front engine, intending to market it in two varieties—one certificated and another experimental. Despite flying the redesigned version, his plans progressed no further, and the Aristocraft story came to an end.

The post That Time When WACO Designers Went a Little Crazy appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

And while I have, over the years, become adept at coping with such challenges like an adult, the exasperation I recently felt when fighting the sheet metal screws that secure my engine cowling in place on an otherwise beautiful day truly tested me.

It’s not that the engine cowling is complicated. On the contrary, it’s simply two very lightweight aluminum shells that fasten to the airplane with an assortment of various screws. To remove the cowling, one simply unscrews each of them, and each half can then be gently lifted away from the airplane. To reinstall the cowling, the process is reversed. Should be no big deal.

When hobbled by a near-complete lack of mechanical ability, however, things become a bit more complex. 

It’s my own fault. Growing up, my focus was on the piles of books and magazines that littered my room, and any opportunity to patiently focus on learning basic mechanical skills outside or in the garage tended to be quickly tossed aside in favor of more time reading FLYING or Car and Driver magazines.

Accordingly, my mechanical ability became—and remains—somewhat stunted. 

On the day in question, I was attempting to reinstall the engine cowling, and those sheet metal screws were fighting me every step of the way. Some weren’t long enough for the threads to take hold. Others spun in place, refusing to tighten like the threads were stripped. Still others seemingly hit a stop after a few turns, stubbornly refusing to tighten at all.

It was infuriating, and I was getting to the point where I would have to surrender altogether and beg my mechanic to come save the day.

That’s when I remembered one of the single greatest features of my airplane—the friendly, seven-day-a-week support and knowledge hotline, otherwise known as Dick, the airplane’s former owner.

Dick and I keep in touch pretty regularly. Having purchased the airplane from his friend some 40 years ago, he has over half a century of familiarity with it. When the time came to hang things up and sell it to me, I could tell it was difficult for him to say goodbye to his trusty friend. 

To help ease the pain, I promised to give him a call from time to time to update him on things. Since then, we’ve talked every couple of months. Our chats typically last an hour or more, the seesaw of conversation tipping back and forth between his experiences with the airplane in the past and my learning curve in the present. 

Despite having sold it to me, he continues to harbor a deep sense of ownership for the 170.

Once, when I mentioned that the engine had developed a small oil leak, his reaction was one of shock and deep offense. He could hardly believe that the engine he had taken care of so well had the audacity to misbehave in such a manner, and he wanted answers. Fortunately, fixing the leak was a simple matter of replacing a crush washer, and all was well.

Time and time again, Dick has demonstrated how he’s a walking encyclopedia of 1953 Cessna 170B, serial number 26053.

Right-side fuel drain acting up? Ah, yes, he recalled, he replaced that one back in ’85, so it’s probably due. Brake rotors looking kind of thin? Well, even though he’s only really ever used them to help steer on the ground, they’ve been on there since the Carter administration.

So when the profanity subsided during the Engine Cowl Screw Incident of Summer 2024, I caught my breath, wiped the sweat from my brow, and decided to call my lifeline for help. It didn’t take long for Dick’s friendly, easy-going manner to bring me back down to earth.

And as usual, he managed to explain things in a way that made me feel smarter than I am.

First, he had me spread all the screws out in a big container. Then, he began to point some things out. See how there are a few screws that are shorter in length? Those go up front by the left intake to better clear the forward left valve cover where there’s virtually no clearance. 

Oh, yeah. I guess those must have been the ones that weren’t biting or tightening down in other places. 

Notice how the thread pitch is slightly different on a handful of them? Back in 1983, he converted the forward sheet metal screws and Tinnermans to machine screws and floating nut plates. This provides a more secure attachment up at the front of the cowl for safety.

Oh, yeah—those threads are indeed a little different. That would explain why I was unable to thread so many of them into place. 

Dick methodically and clearly educated me on these finer points of the airplane, effectively talking me down from the ledge of incompetence and helping me to understand yet another mechanical aspect that had, up until that point, completely eluded me.

We chatted for a while longer, talking about flying, sharing some laughs, and updating each other on the latest happenings in our lives. 

It occurs to me that among all the criteria one must consider when evaluating various airplanes to purchase, the friendship and support from a previous owner is one factor that is completely unaccounted for.

Classified ads don’t include the previous owner’s demeanor or friendliness. There’s no way to evaluate whether that person would be willing to help out with information or advice in the future or, indeed, whether they are even the kind of person with whom you’d like to stay in touch at all. 

Perhaps it’s for the best. Because if such an evaluation system were in place and widely used, Dick would have increased the value of my airplane to a level well beyond my financial capability—and I’d never have been able to buy it to begin with.

The post Life Lessons and Surviving a Fight With Sheet Metal Screws appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Not all cargo aircraft begin their lives as unpowered assault gliders. Fewer still go on to utilize five different engine configurations, encompassing piston, turboprop, jet, and combined piston/jet power.

But this was exactly what transpired during the interesting life of the Fairchild C-123 Provider.

Glider

In the late 1940s, the U.S. Army Air Force decided it needed a larger, more capable assault glider in its inventory. Having successfully utilized smaller, fabric-covered gliders to insert troops into battle during World War II, it reasoned that such success could be continued in future conflicts. It awarded a contract to the Chase Aircraft Company to design and build two prototypes for evaluation—prototypes that would later evolve into the C-123 Provider.

• READ MORE: The Untapped Potential of the Horten HX-2

Called the XCG-20, the resulting aircraft was the largest glider constructed for such a purpose. With a wingspan greater than that of early Boeing 737s, it incorporated a 30-foot-long cargo area with a rear ramp that allowed vehicles to self-load. It was perhaps the only glider with a dedicated auxiliary power unit to power onboard systems like the landing gear and flaps.

Before the XCG-20 could enter production, however, the military determined that there was no longer a need for assault gliders. Perhaps anticipating this development, the engineers at Chase had the foresight to design the wing to accommodate the installation of engines. Accordingly, as the aircraft’s future as a glider came to an end, its future as a powered aircraft emerged.

Piston

The definitive version of the C-123 was the piston-powered transport. Utilizing the proven Pratt & Whitney R-2800 Double Wasp radial engine, which was also used in the Douglas DC-6, Chance-Vought F4U Corsair, and Republic P-47 Thunderbolt, among others, just over 300 examples were produced in the late 1950s. 

Operated by the U.S. Air Force and Coast Guard as well as a variety of foreign militaries, the piston-powered C-123 would go on to serve in the Vietnam War as well as other conflicts around the world.

Its cargo ramp and capability of operating from short, unimproved airstrips made it useful for various roles, including troop transport, medevac, and special operations support. One of the last operators to utilize the C-123 in regular service was the Royal Thai Air Force, which retired them in 1995.

Turboprop

In the late 1970s and early ’80s, the Royal Thai government explored the possibility of converting its C-123s from piston engines to turboprop engines. This modification would have improved the aircraft’s takeoff and climb performance, as well as its cruise speed and reliability.

With the help of the Mancro Aircraft Company, it oversaw the installation of Allison T-56 turboprops on one C-123 for evaluation.

• READ MORE: The Hughes XF-11, a Behemoth That Never Made It Out of Testing

While the T-56 saw great success powering such aircraft as the Lockheed C-130 Hercules, Lockheed L-188 Electra, and Grumman E-2 Hawkeye, among others, little data exists that outlines the performance and technical success of the C-123 installation. Budget constraints reportedly brought the Thai government’s investment to a halt, and Mancro was unable to successfully market and sell the modification to any other potential customers.

Combination

For increased thrust and performance, a number of C-123s were modified with the installation of turbojet booster engines

 Multiple jet engine types were utilized, including Fairchild’s J44, which also powered the Ryan Firebee target drone and the General Electric J85, which was also used in the Cessna A-37 Dragonfly and Northrop T-38 Talon.

The booster engines provided multiple benefits.

• READ MORE: The Hiller Hornet and Its Ill-Fated Ring of Fire

In addition to the expected improvement in takeoff and climb performance, they increased the aircraft’s payload by approximately 30 percent. Additionally, the presence of auxiliary engines provided an expanded safety margin in the event of the failure of a main piston engine, something that was surely appreciated by the crews flying over inhospitable terrain and hostile areas.

Jet

The most visually striking version of the platform was the Chase XC-123A.

Originally constructed as an XG-20 glider, it was fitted with four General Electric J47 turbojet engines mounted in pairs, like those on the Boeing B-47 Stratojet and the Convair B-36 Peacemaker.

While these turbojets supplemented thrust appreciably, they required significantly more maintenance than even the radial piston engines that would see widespread use. One source indicates the typical time between overhauls for the J47 was approximately 225-625 hours.

The post The Unusual Evolution of the Fairchild C-123 Provider appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

These are the kinds of things one learns when one must beg friends for a ride home from a distant rural airport immediately following EAA Airventure in Oshkosh, Wisconsin.

Fortunately, this discovery did not stem from mechanical woes or becoming stranded due to weather. It was simply a function of playing musical vehicles as I dropped off my plane for its annual inspection on my way back home after a week of festivities at Oshkosh. Not wanting to leave my mechanic with 207 pounds of cargo with which to contend during the inspection, I carefully loaded all of my gear into the Crosstrek with little room to spare.

• READ MORE: When Unforeseen Circumstances Threaten to Derail Amazing Experiences

This year, the entire AirVenture experience was a study in cargo and packing. While I’d done it before, this year was perhaps the first in which my gear selection was completely dialed, with a proven selection of items to ensure my week in Oshkosh would be the best ever.

From tents to cots to power supplies to food, every piece was carefully considered and calibrated, making for a fantastic week. Besides creating a top-notch AirVenture experience, this also reinforced my philosophy that it’s best to purchase an airplane you’ll grow into rather than out of.

I didn’t always feel this way.

Early on in my journey toward aircraft ownership, I had nearly settled on the trusty yet tiny Cessna 140 or its simpler, flapless cousin, the 120. I loved the way they flew, and they were among the least expensive options available. They seemed to check all the boxes.

Eventually, however, I decided that for me the ability to take that epic, once-a-year trip was worth the higher purchase price and increased fuel burn throughout the rest of the year. Two years of pinching pennies and working massive amounts of overtime eventually enabled the purchase of my larger, four-place 170.

And even though I never carry more than one passenger, and even though I only fully utilize the cabin volume once a year, the effort was entirely worth it. Had I settled for the smaller 120/140, every one of my Oshkosh experiences would be completely different.

For one, the additional space allows for luxuries that can completely transform any camping trip.

Years ago, in my motorcycle days, I learned firsthand that while it’s possible to pack extraordinarily small and light, this comes with significant compromises. The lightest tents and sleeping pads on the market, for example, function fine but prioritize minimalism and utility over comfort.

Now, with my roomy 170 made all the more voluminous via the removal of the rear seat, I could afford to upgrade my Oshkosh trip accordingly.

Going through my mental list of past annoyances, I addressed each individually. Thin sleeping pad that leaves me aching in the morning? Guess I’ll just go ahead and order the plush cot. A few extra changes of clothes that allow me to present myself at evening get-togethers as a civilized person rather than a shipwreck survivor? Don’t mind if I do.

The extra space and payload also enabled me to bring two laptops and a second monitor, so I could work remotely in the days leading up to the big event. Suddenly, I was able to live and work from the airplane. All it took was some careful weight-and-balance calculations and a bit of strategic positioning of the heavier items.

• READ MORE: EAA AirVenture 2024 in Photos

The extra space transforms the Oshkosh experience for friends, as well.

Two years ago, one friend found herself sleeping in a pool of rainwater when her cheap tent succumbed to passing storms. This year, an airline pilot friend came straight to Oshkosh from a work trip without a tent or sleeping pad. In each case, the 170’s cabin allowed me to toss in an extra tent and sleeping pad from my aforementioned motorcycle camping days. For the cost of an additional 2.5 pounds of gear, each friend enjoyed their trip immensely.

It often makes sense to expedite one’s entry into ownership by selecting a small, inexpensive type to begin with. If, for example, one is certain one’s mission will always be limited to short local flights.

But sometimes, buying an airplane capable of something more—even if that something occurs only once a year—can make it all worthwhile.

The post EAA AirVenture: A Study in Cargo and Packing appeared first on FLYING Magazine.