Learning to fly requires the acquisition of physical skills as well as the absorption of reams of newfound knowledge, theories, and terms unique to flight. All of those who’ve gone before have faced the same challenges. Yet, today’s environment calls for preparing newcomers for some hurdles that are shaped a little differently than the ones seen earlier.

“If this were easy, everybody would be doing it,” as the saying goes. When it comes to flying, truer words were never spoken.

If flying were as simple as driving, it would lose much of its attraction. The challenge of tackling a difficult, even potentially hazardous, endeavor is a reward in itself. And aviation never ceases to present challenges, making it a lifestyle, not a simple course of study.

There’s room for pilots of every stripe—those after a career, the ones needing an adjunct to a business, the seekers of pure recreation, and those wanting another personal travel option. There are challenges in pursuing each of these tracks.

Where Do I Go?

To a beginner, the atmosphere of an airport requires some discernment.

Two distinct sets of airport accommodations have evolved in recent years—the sanitized, secure world of business aviation terminals, with a lobby of polished marble and chrome that carries all the warmth of a dental office, and the semi-abandoned rumpled ambiance of a recreational airport, looking for all the world like a weekend hunting lodge. In both cases, inquiring student pilots may wonder if they are in the right place. Everyone is so taken up with their own tasks that a disoriented stranger may be tempted to look for a bell to ring just to get someone’s attention.

The business terminal probably has an efficient, overworked receptionist, required by security paranoia to guard the doorway to the parking ramp against errant individuals. Somewhere, off in one of the lesser-used rooms, is a flight training desk, to which you will be ushered for your appointment. And sure enough, behind the sterile facade, you will find a break room where pilots can mingle to talk flying around worn chairs.

By comparison, a sport-flying airport’s office may be camouflaged as a lean-to shed on the side of a hangar, where an unmarked door with peeling paint opens onto a disheveled world of abandoned Styrofoam cups and well-thumbed magazines. Strangers are viewed with as much distrust as at the bizjet terminal counter, requiring a proper visa to be shown for admittance. Fear not. Once inducted you’ll be able to claim this homey, lived-in place as your own.

A private club atmosphere in aviation is part of its mystique, but it often leads to misunderstanding by the general public happening to make casual contact. An impression may be given that only those on official business are welcome. As I stress to visitors I escort around our airfield, this is a public facility—treat it as your own, but don’t abuse it. Feel free to park and watch the planes come and go, and walk around all you like.

If we in general aviation don’t make the non-aviator feel welcome, we may find our airport paved over for a strip mall someday.

There’s No Right or Wrong Way

Another source of confusion for learners is the oft-heard objection, “We don’t do it like that,” usually given by a self-appointed, expert old-timer. Pilots who learned to fly 20, 30, or 40 years ago are constantly carping about how the world has gone to hell, how aviation sure isn’t what it used to be, and how much more fun it was back then. This can lead a new pilot to wonder if this diminishing business is worth all the time and treasure they’re putting into it.

And the fact is, things are different today, just as things were different when today’s chronic griper learned to fly two decades ago under conditions then far removed from the world of old-timers of that era. We have more rules now, there’s more traffic around some airports, and everything costs more—but it’s all relative. Today’s learners will naturally adjust to the conditions of this age and will probably tell their kids how cheap flying used to be.

Pilots learning to fly now should ignore doom-and-gloom types and dedicate themselves to the preservation of our freedoms.

Eternal Unpredictability

We live in a time of instant-redo fixes for everything, so it comes as a shock to beginner pilots that things don’t always work out as planned in aviation. There are limitations imposed by weather, airplanes may be down for inspection longer than predicted, and sharing access to an airplane depends on the other person’s success at keeping a schedule. Airplanes are not cars, and we have to learn that they can’t be operated like automobiles.

The risks of aviation must be managed with flexibility. When a preflight inspection turns up a frayed tire, it’s imperative that it be fixed before the airplane flies, even if that means scrubbing today’s mission. It’s not likely that the repair shop will have someone standing by to yank it off while you wait, even if there’s an FBO at the airport with the right tire in stock. Student pilots have to adjust to the reality of being able to fly only if everything works out.

The very day a dual cross-country flight is scheduled as the next lesson on the syllabus, a weather front will stall out across the route. So that carefully plotted learning experience is deferred, and another hour of touch-and-goes is substituted for it. Part of flight training is learning when not to attempt a particular task.

How to Pay for It

Can’t afford to learn to fly? Nothing much has changed in the 63 years since I earned my private license. I finished up $200 in debt, and that represented one-third of the cost of my training. But I knew I should finish the course and then pay off the debt with the certificate earned. My menial job paid but $1 per hour, and I could afford one lesson a week—most weeks.

The point is, as far back as I remember, airplanes have always been expensive luxuries, and if we wanted to fly them, we always had to give up some other part of our life. Saving up a portion of the cost or adding debt to learn to fly is about acquiring discipline, as much a part of aviation as life itself. I wish I could hand out free scholarships to every deserving learner, but the fact is, nobody makes a big profit from light aviation. Your flight school is probably already in negative cash flow, so don’t expect freebies unless you trade out work for air time.

As daunting as the financial hurdle appears, it can be cleared with sacrifice and extra work. Take on a second or third job, keep the old car running, and dedicate yourself to achieving something unique—your pilot’s certificate.

You’re Not All That Different

You may think you can’t fly because you don’t see a lot of pilots like you.

Look beyond the classification you think you’re in. Airplanes don’t see your differences—they are going to treat you the same as anyone else when you grab hold of the controls. You are becoming a pilot—period. Not a hyphenated, first-of-your-kind, special pilot, but a pilot like all the others you see in the break room.

More than most aspects of society, aviation has been a great equalizer. If you prove yourself by earning wings, you’ll be accepted as what you are, a pilot like all the rest. That’s not to say you can’t run into a thick-skulled, bigoted idiot in your flying journey, but they are rarer than you’ll find in less demanding activities.

Don’t ask for your flaws to be overlooked, just expect to be given the same training as all the other learners and become the pilot you want to be.

Terminology

Aviation’s lexicon can be perplexing because it’s new and strange.

Wading through the myriad acronyms, terms, and phraseology is one of the biggest obstacles I see learners struggling against. Even longtime aviators sometimes call the FAA “the FFA” when they get their mouth in front of their brains. V-speeds can be arcane because they have two meanings—a number to fly and a statement of purpose. Radio use has both an official distinctness, as set forth by the Aeronautical Information Manual (AIM), and a broader application in everyday use, when one seldom hears the term “over.”

The cure for becoming lost in the jargon is to study and listen. Don’t be afraid to ask for clarification when a term leaves you baffled. When you took up golf, you probably didn’t know a mulligan from a bogey, but you learned. Two of the least-used features of training texts are the glossary and index, supplanted by Google-ization. The publishers went to considerable trouble to include them, so use them to look up a term that baffles you.

Should ATC throw you a string of gobbledygook instead of a preconceived response, fall back on basic English to ask for clarification. Better to be thought a fool than to proceed blindly and remove all doubt. 

I can’t remove all your training obstacles, but I can assure you that you’ll have plenty of company as you climb over them. Knowing that you’re not the first to deal with them makes the job less challenging.  

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared on Plane & Pilot.

The post Negotiating the Flight Training Obstacle Course appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

More than anything else, it was my subscription to FLYING Magazine, beginning with the January 1955 issue, that created a thirst for additional knowledge and achievement. I was not alone. A lot of builders and dreamers were entering the private aviation industry in that era, helping transform it from a time of tube-and-rag taildraggers to sleek transportation aircraft.

In the mid-20th century, America was uniquely positioned for the creation of a modern noncommercial aviation system. There was a need for airplanes that could transport families and business people across the vast distances of North America, we had an airport of some sort in nearly every community, and our personal freedom and finances encouraged the utility of light aircraft. The inefficient war-surplus airplanes and vintage taildraggers leftover from the 1940s no longer sufficed. We were ready for easier-to-fly, purpose-built airplanes.

And experienced, visionary heads of aircraft companies were ready to provide them. As with the automotive industry, we had the Big Three—Beechcraft, Cessna, and Piper—plus eager-to-compete smaller companies like Aero Commander, Bellanca, Champion, Maule, and Mooney. As the 1960s arrived, new models and improved veteran designs showed up in the marketplace. Likewise, a new term, avionics, was coined, referring to a fresh crop of highly capable radios for our instrument panels, thanks to transistors and compact power supplies that shrank space requirements. 

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Powerplants also underwent development. Fuel injection and lightweight turbochargers were added to piston engines, small turbojets encouraged the concept of business jets, and new medium-horsepower turboprops filled the gap between 300 hp opposed recips and burly radials. By 1970, GA shoppers were able to buy anything from aerobatic two-seaters to pressurized, cabin-class twins. Available business aircraft ranged from turboprop executive airplanes to fanjet-powered corporate barges. Airports and airspace routings had been improved to accommodate GA’s growth. This laissez-faire ’60s atmosphere kept the industry’s engineering departments working overtime.

The declared goal during the frenetic ’60s and ’70s was to create “gap fillers.” Every company wanted to provide an airplane to suit every need and keep customers loyal to its brand. Piper had a fleet of Cherokee derivatives, from the 2+2 Cherokee 140, the everyday 180 and beefy 235, and the stretched Cherokee Six, leading to retractable Arrows and Lances, and even twin-engine Senecas and Seminoles. Piper’s earlier high-performance Comanche line was retained through 1972 in single and twin versions, with normal and turbocharged engines. And the company also offered heavier twins in various piston-engine Navajo and turboprop Cheyenne models, all while still building the venerable Aztec twin—not to mention the agricultural Pawnee airplanes and an occasional Super Cub.

Beech Aircraft also tried to fill every gap in the market with a Beechcraft. It expanded its line  downward from the three Bonanza models with a lighter Musketeer series, offered in trainer, cruiser, and retractable variants, and it even fielded a light-twin Duchess, all the while offering Baron twins in as many as five styles, plus the sexy Duke and cabin-class Queen Airs. Meanwhile, Beech’s King Air turboprop line grew longer and more capable, even leading into commuter-airliner variations. To round out its offerings, Beech acquired upscale business jets from Hawker and Mitsubishi. 

Cessna, meanwhile, outdid everyone, developing model after model to plug any sales leak in its line. At one time in the ’70s, I counted 22 singles and 13 twins among its offerings, in addition to the burgeoning Citation business jet lineup. Whatever you needed, from two-place trainer to pressurized single, from push-pull “safe twin” to back-door executive twin, agricultural airplanes and bushplanes, Cessna had them all. There seemed to be no end to the swelling Cessna tide, which amounted to 50 percent of the industry’s unit output during the boom times.

At the same time, little Mooney expanded its basic M20 retractable into longer and more powerful models, Rockwell developed single-engine and ag planes to supplement its piston and turboprop twin-engine line, Bellanca/Champion offered a half-dozen two-seat tailwheel airplanes to compliment its Viking retractables, Grumman was making two- and four-seat airplanes plus a twin-engine model, and Maule tweaked and stretched every possible variation from its tailwheel utility aircraft. 

Present Day Flying

Today, we are still enjoying the fruits of these developments in the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s.

Refurbished examples of the golden age general aviation airplanes sell for many multiples of their original sticker price, while the limited-production, new single-engine airplanes are astronomically unaffordable. The promised introduction of “light sport” airplanes that would provide economical new aircraft hasn’t worked out. They are priced at about twice the expected figure and often don’t have sufficient payload to accommodate two adults plus full fuel. 

A serious implosion in light airplane production took place during the mid-’80s, closing many production lines and shrinking the supply of available models. This was due to an oversupply of airplanes during economic malaise, coupled with the growth of rapacious product liability lawsuits and concurrent manufacturer insurance costs. Most of GA’s growth shifted into big-ticket aircraft such as turbine-powered business airplanes, utility and owner-flown, single-engine turboprops, and fast-glass, piston-engine singles.

As the new millennium arrived, Cirrus Design brought not only a new sleek composite-construction personal airplane but a fresh approach to marketing it. With its integral emergency parachute, side-stick control, video-screen, GPS-based avionics and automotive interior styling, the Cirrus SR series appealed to a new generation of entrants to GA. The company quickly filled a void abandoned by the traditional airplane companies that had been acquired by corporate conglomerates that were more interested in selling big-ticket business aircraft than entry-level models. 

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The real revolution now stems from the utility gained by effortless navigation provided by GPS data flowing into advanced computing capability, so that panel-mounted displays can not only show current position but flight plan routing, all linked to advanced autopilot technology taking care of most cross-country piloting chores. With uplinked, in-cockpit weather integrated into tablet-based “electronic flight bags” or the avionics suite, there’s no longer any excuse for pressing on into unflyable conditions lurking over the horizon. 

Retrofitting this advanced technology into legacy aircraft is simply a matter of allocating enough money to make the airplane useful. The ADS-B mandate of 2020 has given more flexibility to ATC handling of any size of aircraft—at the cost of privacy and freedom. Yes, we deal with a multitude of airspace rules and restrictions, but we had to negotiate many of those same encroachments in the late 20th century, and with less computing power in the cockpit back then to help us avoid them. 

Airport infrastructure has shifted away from providing accommodations for all comers to building for the biggest user, leaving light general aviation to occupy the corners of the ramp or a remote edge of the airport. Stand-alone, family-operated FBOs have been replaced by chains of opulent palaces catering to the jet set. We can expect to pay for what used to be free services, because our minuscule fuel business is no longer important enough to be willingly subsidized by the big iron customers. 

Expectations are greater in the 21st century—in all aspects of life, not just GA. New entrants to flying expect seamless air conditioning, push-button actuations, plush accommodations, and high levels of service, compared with their more-tolerant parents and grandparents. If passengers can’t have Wi-Fi on board, they don’t want to ride with us. Privileges have their price, reflected in million-dollar sticker prices on new limited-production piston singles and multiple millions for personal turboprops. 

At least we still have options, even though we may have more money tied up in our instrument panel than a first-class traveling airplane cost back in the late 1900s. We’ve lost many airports to housing and industrial developments, but many remain, still giving access to communities via general aviation, providing transportation and utility possible in no other way. 

Flying’s Future

The future, from my jaded perspective, will be different, perhaps not to the tastes of my generation but still suitable and rewarding to those who’ll be doing most of the GA flying.

Accommodations might have to be made for the hyper-promoted electric urban air mobility (UAM) vehicles, manned and unmanned, in various stages of development for a market that may or may not exist. If airspace, bases, and routes have to be carved out for these anticipated thousands of mass-transit conveyances, we may see some disruption of traditional air traffic.

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The big unknown is the impact of governmental and public policy interference on a limited-participation activity like general aviation. Regardless of the facts, the loudest voices get the most attention at law-making levels, and well-meaning but shortsighted regulation can wind up stifling the freedom of flight enjoyed by private citizens. We must continue to support our GA membership organizations, and these associations must link arms with other interests, such as business aviation, helicopter operators, agricultural aviation, flight training, avionics shops, and FBOs, to ward off possible restrictions and bad laws stemming from class-envy and special-interest rhetoric targeting the industry.

I remain eternally optimistic about aviation, because I’ve always observed humankind’s innate desire to fly. From the days of the earliest prehistoric human watching soaring birds, there’s always been something urging us to look skyward, yearning to share the perspective of height. People will always want to fly, and once having tasted the freedom of personal wings, it is difficult to give it up. It behooves us to share flight with as many of our friends and acquaintances as possible, building a coalition to preserve what we’ve been given. 

A love of flying, like all passions, has to be given away if it is to be continuously circulated back to the conferrer.

This feature first appeared in the Summer 2024 Ultimate Issue print edition.

The post Ultimate Issue: The State of U.S. General Aviation appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

It’s not that we can’t fly during the short, colder days. It’s just not worth the bother in the frozen states. Bundling up for the trek to the hangar, arranging for some engine heat, wondering if the battery is up to the start, chipping leftover snowplow detritus from the rollout path—naw, too much trouble, wait for a better day.

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Floridians, meanwhile, fire up in their shirtsleeves and fly right on through winter. It was 50 years ago that folks in some enterprising EAA chapters thought up the idea of inviting their pale, pasty northern friends down to the lake country in Florida for an end-of-winter get-together. Quickly dubbed Sun’n Fun, the fly-in/airshow took off like, well, spring break with airplanes. This year’s event runs Tuesday, April 9, through Sunday, April 14.

The site at Lakeland Linder International Airport (KLAL) couldn’t be a better choice. Nicely situated between the airspaces of the tourist mecca of Orlando and the Gulf Coast’s Tampa-St. Petersburg area, the venerable World War II facility, then called Drane Field, has adequate space and easy highway access from Interstate Highway 4’s corridor. 

Sport and experimental aircraft devotees flock in to mingle with all classes of flight, from balloons to ultralights, antiques to vintage, aerobatic to warbirds, and rotorcraft to seaplanes—you can find it all at Sun ’n Fun.

As with the midsummer extravaganza, EAA AirVenture, in Wisconsin, vendors soon latched on to the Sun ’n Fun explosion, and it became a showplace for products unveiled after winter gestation, with display hangars and booths galore. It’s a great place to shop for the latest innovations, or perhaps a fly-market find.

Daily (and sometimes nightly) airshows, constant flybys, lots of food choices, an on-field museum of flight, and educational seminars keep attendees entertained.

• READ MORE: Sun ‘n Fun 2024: Soar into the Skies with Unforgettable Airshow Spectacles

Getting in requires perusal of the 27-page NOTAM, available on the event website, which outlines the Lake Parker arrival procedure, which has been modified this year with a entry point on I-4 at Kermit Weeks’ Fantasy of Flight Museum complex (or even earlier), where one begins the 100-knot, 1,200-foot msl trek, heading southward to a racetrack turn point and westward to the north shore of the lake. From there, the interstate leads to another turn at two water towers prior to an interchange onto a 90-degree interception path to the downwind leg for either Runway 10L or 28R, depending on surface winds. 

Bear in mind that the 75-foot-wide arrival runway is normally used for a taxiway, and the paralleling main runway is reserved for other activity. As at Oshkosh, colored dots painted on the temporary runway are used as aiming points for separation. There’s also the Paradise City grass runway, well south of normal traffic, and Choppertown for the helicopters.

Walking around the grounds guarantees plenty of exercise, although the semicircular flight-line shape appears deceptively short compared to a straight-line layout. There’s abundant shade under the Spanish-moss-laden live oaks, under which northerners are advised to seek shelter from the unaccustomed sun. I routinely return from Sun ’n Fun with peeling skin, even with ample protection.

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared on Plane & Pilot.

The post Sun ’n Fun Kicks Off Spring Break for Aviation appeared first on FLYING Magazine.