We were gathered just off of the grass Runway 29L, and everyone stared intently at the ridgeline to our west. When a solitary, tiny cloud formed a few thousand feet above the ridge, the pilots became suddenly animated.

They were coming off of a long stretch of bad weather—little to no wind and sunny skies. The kind of weather that any nonpilot would likely refer to as perfect. That little cloud signaled rising air. Clouds generally form when rising air cools and can no longer hold the moisture it carries.

It’s the rising part that gets glider pilots excited. In fact, it’s the difference between gliding and soaring. Gliding is what you do when you can’t find lift. Soaring is what you do when you can.

A week before heading home from LA, Tom Phillips, a FLYING reader, reached out to me about trying soaring. On the surface, soaring does not meet my criteria for earning new ratings, which largely means frequent usage. I will likely not do a whole lot of gliding outside of my instruction. 

• READ MORE: Total Eclipse: What a Difference an Airplane Makes

However, Phillips explained that it would teach me a great deal about energy management. This is a nice way of saying that if the day should come when the engine in my aircraft quits, I will find myself piloting a very heavy glider. 

And so I found myself sitting in LA traffic as I made my way down to Lake Elsinore for my initial lesson. I assumed that the acronym stood for Lake Elsinore Soaring Club. Nope. It came into being in the 1980s as the Low Expense Soaring Club based out of Adelanto, California. I can not imagine how happy they must have been to find Lake Elsinore as their new home. Not a single business card or piece of stationery was lost in the transition. 

I was lucky to have Doug Hingst assigned as my instructor for the day. Hingst is a 737 captain and check pilot for Alaska Airlines. He has 17,800 hours with around 350 in gliders. He owns a high-performance glider, and in fact, the day after our lesson he soared for nearly four hours and flew 200 miles on a single tow by finding lift in all the right places. 

On this particular Friday morning, we had more modest goals in a more modest aircraft. Hingst helped me get into the Schweizer 2-33A, which was tight but not cramped for my 6-foot-4 frame. The glider weighs about 600 pounds empty and is the instructional workhorse of the American soaring community. I looked around for a headset that did not exist. Right. No 9-liter noise-making monster turning a fan right in front of me. 

• READ MORE: Machines, Like Human Bodies, Do Not Like Sitting Still

The cockpit is truly sparse, just a couple of instruments with the VSI being the most important. No attitude indicator, no radios, no screens. The experience, like the aircraft itself, is extremely analog.

Hingst sat behind me as members of the club attached the tow rope to the nose of our glider—the other end of which was attached to an idling tow plane. I was told the rope itself must have 80 percent of the tensile strength of the gross weight of the glider. OK. There are rules. Thank God.

Rich, a 70-something club member, held the left wing up at the tip so that it would not drag on the ground for the initial takeoff roll. I was having a hard time understanding how Rich was going to keep up with an airplane on foot until the tow plane applied throttle. The glider’s wings generate so much lift that within a few strides the wing was able to carry its own weight. Five seconds later, we were airborne leaving all expectations on the ground.

The tow plane took us right toward that ridge in search of exactly the conditions we avoid in powered flight. Namely, turbulence. I pulled the release handle at around 3,200 feet, and the cord snapped forward with the tow plane banking left as we banked right—a routine practice between glider and tow pilots. 

Hingst found us a thermal in no time, and after showing me the ropes, let me circle up in the column of rising air. We climbed almost 5,000 feet, going all the way up to 8,000 feet, powered solely by Mother Nature. Hingst’s son was in another glider, and we climbed together in the same thermal.

• READ MORE: The Wisdom of Keeping Transmissions Short and Sweet

Expectations I had were quickly challenged. 

A few examples:

• There is no communication between tow and glider pilots regarding the moment of disconnecting the rope. You just pull the knob whenever you like.

• A center stick in itself means nothing in relation to roll rates and general authority. I suppose I’ve seen Top Gun one too many times. The Schweizer is a training glider and handles like an ’80s Cadillac with over-boosted power steering. However, that sluggish response also equates to very benign stall characteristics. 

• I was told to put the tow plane’s landing gear on the horizon as a marker for where we should be positioned during the climb. I was worried about wake turbulence, but the real issue is getting too high behind the tow plane. This can pull the tail of the tow plane up and into an unrecoverable dive. 

• There is no need for headsets. Rushing air is the only sound you hear. Hingst spoke to me plainly, and I was able to hear everything he said. Mostly what I was doing wrong.

• Midair collisions are a real concern in the pattern with powered airplanes. Not so in gliders. Multiple planes operate in the same space, even sharing thermals. I have never been that close to another aircraft, save for my ride in a then-AeroShell T-6 at Oshkosh.

• A 70-year-old person is perfectly capable of running next to a glider on a takeoff roll.

I liked getting everything wrong. It made me shut my mouth and listen. I liked being a beginner again, drinking from a fire hose. My brain enjoys new stimuli, and the experience delivered in spades. 

Hingst and I stayed airborne for close to two hours on one tow. We moved along the ridge looking for different thermals, using clouds and even vultures as signs of lift. 

We might have gone longer, but at one point after circling up in a thermal, I realized I was sweating profusely even though the temperature inside the cabin had to be in the low 50s. As it turns out, making tight turns in a circle for 15 minutes straight with the sun on top of your head will make you nauseous. Well, it made me nauseous. I asked Hingst if he had an airsickness bag. Negative. He asked me not to throw up if possible. Copy that. 

I nonchalantly suggested we head back, praying I didn’t get sick all over the panel. Hingst used the speedbrakes to great effect and brought us in on speed and on target.

This was the one expectation I had that was confirmed: There is no go-around. No second shot. You are going to land one way or another. Better make it count. 

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

The post Nothing Comes as Expected During Quiet Flight appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

While some use professional connections to secure jobs flying twin, turbine, or charter operations to gain critical experience, others build time quickly as flight instructors or even buying and renting airplanes.

In such a big pool of applicants, many want to know what to do to stand out as a uniquely qualified and capable pilot. One of the best ways to do so is to attain special ratings and endorsements that are not common in the general public.

Glider Pilot Add-Ons

Becoming a glider pilot is one of the best ways to build quality flight time.

Gliding with no engine forces a pilot to learn more about the physics of flight, particularly controlling lift and drag directly to stay airborne for hours. Even just a little glider experience can do wonders to help pilots learn new skills or refine the ones they already possess.

Glider pilots can also attain additional ratings, endorsements, and privileges to further their career progression. They can, for example, receive an endorsement to do aerotows, flying airplanes that pull unpowered gliders into the air. This is a great way to sharpen skills and even make a few bucks in the process.

Glider pilots also need endorsements to add on each new type of glider launching. Those who have only ever been towed, for example, need an additional endorsement to fly self-launching gliders.

Learning the ins and outs of a wider variety of aircraft opens pilots up to a wider variety of situations that broaden their skills and experience, making them more competitive for a wider variety of positions down the road.

High-Altitude Endorsement

The process for attaining a high-altitude endorsement can be tricky, as you need to find someone willing to provide you with a capable aircraft for the training.

However, receiving the high-altitude training is valuable for pilots interested in continuing their careers in jets, turbine aircraft, and other high-performance aircraft down the road.

A high-altitude endorsement is required when flying a pressurized aircraft with a service ceiling or maximum operating altitude, whichever is lower, above 25,000 feet. The endorsement includes training on the dangers of hypoxia and other high-altitude physiological challengers, as well as aerodynamics and operations of systems.

The flight portion of the training includes both standard operations and emergency procedures. Simply having flight training in high-performance, high-altitude aircraft—let alone experience acting as a pilot of one—is invaluable for whatever aviator job may be interested in applying for down the road.

Seaplane Rating

Seaplanes are a great middle ground for pilots interested in expanding their horizons.

While the flight characteristics of a seaplane will be familiar to someone who already has time in land-based airplanes, learning to touch down on water is a unique challenge that can help pilots prove they’ve still got what it takes to face new challenges and succeed in new situations.

Though rare, some flight schools even offer multiengine seaplane add-ons. Pilots looking to build additional multiengine time can use this rating to build experience in a way that stands out from other pilots who often simply rent multiengine land airplanes to finish their time-building requirements.

Ground Instructor Certificate

If you’re looking for a rating to boost your aeronautical knowledge—at a fraction of the cost—then a ground instructor certificate is a great option.

All you need to do is pass the appropriate ground instructor written test—plus the Fundamentals of Instructing (FOI) test if you’re not already a flight instructor—and bring your result to the FAA.

FAA Advanced Ground Instructors (AGIs) are permitted to give ground training to almost any pilot or applicant except for instrument rating applicants. That requires an Instrument Ground Instructor (IGI) rating.

Giving ground lessons with real students will help pilots refine their knowledge while getting paid. Many flight instructor applicants obtain their ground instructor certification to help them study for their flight instructor exams by working with real students to put lesson plans to the test.

There are a variety of ways to expand your skills and knowledge as a pilot. Through new ratings, additional experience, and unique flight time, pilots can stand out while refining their abilities.

There is no one best way to face the challenge of becoming a professional pilot but rather a variety of methods based on individual needs and future goals.

The post Best Pilot Ratings to Advance Your Career appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Answer: This seemingly straightforward question has a complicated answer that begins with more questions: Why do you want to fly? Is it a bucket list item? Are you wanting to make a career change? Are you looking for an initial career?

When the person asking the question is a teenager, we need to take a look at their age. You can earn a glider certificate at 14, solo a powered airplane at 16, and become a private pilot at age 17. But that doesn’t mean a teen has the maturity to accept the responsibility of being a pilot. In addition, teens are notoriously overscheduled these days. If they are taking a heavy course load at school, playing a sport, or involved in a lot of extracurriculars such as band, robotics club, etc., this may not be the time to start flying lessons. They need to be able to focus on the task, and that’s tough to do when you are spread so thin. 

As flying skills are perishable, for teens seeking training in powered aircraft it is often best to schedule flight lessons a few months ahead of their 16th birthday and/or when the weather in your part of the world is best. You don’t want the training to drag out for too long. However, I have worked with teens as young as 14 for whom flying lessons were a reward for doing well in school—straight A’s will get you into the cockpit or ground school, but the teen will have to do the work once they get there. When their birthday on the calendar caught up with their training progress, they earned their certificates.

• READ MORE: Age Is Just a Number When It Comes to Flight Training

For the person seeking a career change, the question pivots to: Do you have the time and money to devote at least 10 hours a week to learning to fly? Don’t forget to factor in study time as well as commuting to and from the airport. Take a serious look at your adult responsibilities, such as simultaneously managing your present career and family obligations, before you commit.

Even if you select an accelerated program, anticipate at least two years of training before having the certifications and experience needed to be hired as a pilot.

Bucket List

If flying is simply the thing that has tugged at your heart for a long time, take consolation. There is no upper-age limit for learning to fly. For a sport pilot certificate, you can use your driver’s license in lieu of a medical exam. If you wish to be a private pilot, as long as you can meet the requirements of a third-class medical certificate, age isn’t a factor. In fact, as a retiree, you may be at the point in your life when you have the time and resources to do what you want. Many people learn to fly when they set aside their primary career and open up their world to the next thing. You could be one of them.

The post What’s the Ideal Age to Start Flying Lessons? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

• READ MORE: Soaring Comes Close To Being ‘One With the Sky’

We’re flying over a prominent ridge that’s not quite perpendicular to the wind. I think strong lift should be here somewhere, but so far it’s been inconsistent. My wife, Dawn, seated in the back, spots a turkey vulture soaring a few hundred feet to windward. I turn that way and soon there’s a deep whump! as a gust slaps the fabric like a drum and the wings load up with a metallic shudder. There’s no electronic vario to chirp a happy song of lift, but you can feel it in your bones and in the stick. This is old-school soaring, and though it’s not terribly sexy, it has a simplicity that is hugely appealing to me. Over the last decade, I’ve done a lot to channel both my life and my recreational flying in this direction. It’s appropriate, then, that I should spend the weekend of my 41st birthday enjoying simple communion with the sky in three different ways.

The festivities started on Friday with getting tailwheel current in a borrowed Piper Super Cub. We’re excited to move into our new airstrip home this fall for many reasons, one of which is that we have pretty great neighbors. One of them, Ken, generously invited me to occasionally exercise his nicely upgraded 1957 PA-18-150. Between the scuzzy weather and my work schedule, I’ve only been able to fly it a few times this winter. So I took off from our airstrip, did some airwork to get reacquainted with the old gal, and headed over to Bremerton National Airport (KPWT) for a few landings. Newly current, I stopped back at our airstrip to pick up Dawn, and we launched for a quick adventure across the Hood Canal and up the Olympic Peninsula’s Dosewallips RiverValley to scout out some hiking routes for this summer. 

A few hours later we caught a flight to Phoenix, Arizona, and on Saturday morning, made our way to Arizona Soaring at Estrella Sailport (E68). The friendly operations manager/chief instructor, Shad Coulson, introduced himself and got down to business. After a primer on the busy gliderport’s traffic procedures, we headed outside to preflight the venerable 2-33. My initial thought was that someone mated a Cub fuselage with Cessna 150 wings—and forgot to add an engine! My second impression was of the apparent toughness of the design. And lastly, the utter simplicity of the cockpit. No radio and no electronics at all. Airspeed indicator, altimeter, analog vario, compass, and yaw string. Stick, rudder pedals, spoilers, 4-position trim, and tow release knob. Amazing. Preflight done, it was time to strap in, hookup, and go flying.

My first surprise was the jarring sound of steel on pavement as we started the takeoff roll. Oh yes, the 2-33 doesn’t even have a nose wheel—it has a steel-faced wooden nose skid. Within seconds, I had control authority to raise the nose and run on the single landing gear. The next revelation was just how eager the 2-33 is to leap off the ground, and on the first takeoff I got slightly high—a surefire way to scare a tow pilot. Once I settled down, though, I found the 2-33 a nice-flying ship, if a bit sleepy in roll. It has much less adverse yaw than higher-performance gliders. And even the dowdy glide ratio felt better than expected. Keep in mind, an L/D of 22:1 is still 2.5 times that of a Cessna 172 with the prop stopped.

Shad was satisfied after two flights and turned me loose for an enjoyable solo, after which I took Dawn for several 30-minute rides, with tows to 4,000 feet. Despite finding several strong areas of ridge lift, they never lasted very long and were offset by equally strong sink. All the circling in hot, bumpy air did a number on Dawn’s stomach, so we decided to call it quits by mid-afternoon. Now that I’m checked out at Estrella, though, I’ll bid KPHX layovers and get in more soaring practice there. Besides the Schweizers, they have a PW-5, a lovely single-place ship I’ve flown before.

My brother Steve flew into Phoenix that afternoon, and we joined him and our mutual sailing friend Amanda for a lovely birthday dinner. Early the next morning, we headed to Skydive Arizona in Eloy. Now, the last time I wrote about skydiving, I had just finished the seven-jump AFF course and was unsure whether I would continue in the sport. Since then, I’ve earned my A-license and logged 48 jumps. My early enjoyment of freefall has only increased; it really is the purest form of flying, with your body as airframe and the relative wind 90 degrees to the horizon. I dream about it often, as I once dreamed of bird flight.

• READ MORE: Falling with Style

Over the winter, I hadn’t been able to skydive much, and it is a sport that demands a high degree of currency, particularly when new. Being out of practice increases your chance of a malfunction, and also makes it less likely that you’ll respond to one quickly, calmly, and appropriately. The equipment is complex, the procedures are intense, and there’s a great deal of technique and muscle memory to flying well. Whenever I haven’t jumped for 40-plus days, the minutes before my next jump feel really, really uncomfortable.

Except this time, that is. I inspected my rig, put on the equipment, and went through my gear checks and emergency procedures, and it all felt good and natural. Steve and I were full of happy anticipation as we clambered aboard the full Cessna Caravan. There were good vibes all around on the ride up. From the moment we exited, the jump went perfectly. I was relaxed, my control was good, we did everything we briefed and mocked up. We broke and pulled at our planned altitude, and then we had a couple minutes to chase each other around under canopy, laughing and shouting across the sky.

As soon as we landed and gathered up our chutes, we were high-fiving and excitedly debriefing the jump, and planning our next one. My packing was slow—that’s really not a thing to rush when you’re new—but we still got in four fantastic jumps. Dawn has no interest in skydiving but is a supportive DZ spouse, and she claimed a shady spot on the lawn to watch experienced jumpers swoop in and film my and Steve’s more modest landings. It was a really nice day spent with her and my little brother, and a fine way to cap off a fantastic aerial weekend of pure, simple flight, celebrating 41 years of adventure on—and above—our wondrous planet.

The post In Search of Simplicity appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

During previous visits to Oshkosh, Wisconsin, Perlan 2 was featured in the static display, but this year, chief pilot Jim Payne and chief engineer Morgan Sandercock finally took the opportunity to showcase the flight characteristics of this unique sailplane. 

In 2018, Perlan 2 made the world’s highest crewed wingborn subsonic flight at 76,124 feet pressure altitude in the Patagonia region of Argentina. Although that height surpassed the maximum recorded altitude in level flight of the legendary Lockheed U-2 Dragon Lady, the SR-71 Blackbird still holds the overall record altitude for level flight of a crewed airplane, at 85,069 feet. 

In the hours leading up to Tuesday’s flight, news that the one-of-a-kind glider would be performing drew crowds and long-lens photographers to the flight line observation zone at Wittman Regional Airport (KOSH).

Here we go! Perlan 2 is back and ready for @EAA AirVenture next week.

As Chief Pilot Jim Payne said, “Made two flights to practice for Oshkosh. Despite the 34-month layoff, the Perlan 2 flew as well as ever. It is ready to go!” #AirbusPerlanMission II #OSH22 @AirbusInTheUS pic.twitter.com/FoXtzxEjDC

— Perlan Project (@PerlanProject) July 19, 2022

Shortly before 3 p.m., the Egrett—with glider in tow—taxied down Runway 27 and quickly went airborne, soaring over the airfield against blue skies mixed with scattered clouds.

“It’s exciting to show off the airplane,” Payne told FLYING shortly before the flight. “Now, it’s not very maneuverable, so we’re not going to do any aerobatics. But it offers a chance to see a tow. The Egrett tows are impressive, because it climbs so fast.”

According to aeropedia.com, the maximum rate of climb at sea level for the type is 427 meters per minute (1,400 fpm). 

The flight crew uses a 300-foot tow line. During takeoff, Payne said, “we’re basically flying in formation on the end of the rope. The Egrett has such a high climb rate that there’s a high tension on the rope. So it’s actually pretty easy to fly because the glider wants to go where the Egrett goes.” Payne said he planned to limit the aircraft’s altitude during the flight to 1,500 feet.

After a flight lasting less than 15 minutes, the glider coasted in for a smooth landing back on Runway 27. Payne and Sandercock exited the aircraft and sat on its fuselage during the tow back to the EAA’s Boeing Plaza.

Ever wondered what it’s like to soar to the edge of #space?
On Sept. 2, 2018, Jim Payne and Tim Gardner with support from a dedicated team of volunteers, soared the engineless Perlan 2 #sailplane to a world altitude record of 76,124 ft.(23,203 m) on #AirbusPerlanMission II. #OTD pic.twitter.com/3koDwfLtjL

— Perlan Project (@PerlanProject) September 2, 2021

About the Aircraft

With an empty weight of 1,500 pounds, Perlan 2 is amazingly light for the structural strength required for stratospheric flight. Its wingspan of 84 feet gives the airplane a total wing area of 262 square feet. 

In flight, cabin pressure reaches 8.5 pounds per square inch (psi), creating a cabin atmosphere equal to flight at about 14,000 feet. 

As you might guess, flying a glider to high altitudes requires specialized equipment, including dual-redundant oxygen rebreathers. The aircraft has been outfitted with a drogue parachute for rapid descent, if necessary, and a ballistic chute for a lower-altitude emergency descent.

How It Flies

Flying Perlan 2 involves the same piloting techniques commonly used by wave-soaring pilots—leveraging clouds and stratospheric air currents formed by mountain wave effects to gain altitude. When there are no clouds to mark the lift-producing areas, aircraft positioning is done using a GPS-based moving map.

What’s Next

Next year, this aircraft—with backing from Airbus—is scheduled to soar higher than it ever has before—to test the glider’s 90,000-feet service ceiling, “We’re going back to Argentina to attempt the fly to FL900,” Payne said. “That will be in late July through early September 2023.”

Airbus Perlan Mission II is scheduled to perform research on weather conditions in the upper atmosphere. If successful, the mission will set a world altitude record for crewed wing-borne flight, according to the Perlan website.

“We have some new science payloads we’ll also incorporate into the airplane,” Payne said. “But visually, the airplane is ready to go.”

The post Sailplane That Soared Higher Than the U-2 Flies at Oshkosh appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Recently, the airpark’s board of directors determined that the 3,800-foot-long paved main runway (17/35) was well overdue for a refresh. 

Alan Hoover, president of the Kelly Airpark Homeowners Association and a board member, explained the state of the runway and the attention that it needed.

“The main runway was originally planned to be an all-dirt strip, but early experience with [glider] towing operations and weather made it clear that an asphalt strip would be required in order to have reliable operations,” Hoover said. “So, the original developer of the airpark, Ben Kelly, installed a 3,800- by 24-foot strip by the late 80s. 

“Later on, in 1995, the runway was widened from 24 feet to 36 feet in width,” he said. “For many years, the residents of the airpark would perform the runway maintenance, performing the crack sealing and other tasks, but eventually, the number and size of cracks made it necessary to replace the runway.”

Jim Norman, vice president of the HOA, outlined how. “A great debt was owed to the original and longtime owners at the airpark for having the foresight to begin saving early [starting in 1997] for the eventual runway replacement. And then forming a finance committee in 2016 that invested those funds into the market [was the next step].”

This foresight enabled the community to pay for the roughly $900,000 project without having to levy a special assessment to its membership. All money for the savings and the investment fund came from annual dues. 

Keeping the Airpark Fresh

The commitment toward continual upkeep has been integral in attracting and retaining residents in the well-regarded community. Bill Derge, the group’s secretary, knows what makes the airpark special, and what initially attracted him to it.

“We have been here about four years now and had lived in the Colorado Springs area before,” he said. “We moved out here, kind of to get away from the congestion, but also because in Colorado, finding storage for airplanes is actually really difficult. There are not that many general aviation-oriented airports out there. 

“I have an eleven-year-old daughter, and we woke up this morning and flew up to Longmont for breakfast. That is kind of normal for her now. That is probably something that is hard to duplicate in any other environment and allows us to raise her in a way that we couldn’t anywhere else.” 

Norman echoed Derge’s sentiments. “We have people here who love to restore airplanes; people here who love to work on airplanes. One on the field that is currently being restored used to fly around Eleanor Roosevelt.” 

We have a Waco cabin class biplane that has won national awards,” he added. “We’ve got Cessnas, Pipers, Super Cubs, Bellancas, a not-yet-flying Stearman, a not-yet-flying Stinson, and others. It’s a great mix of nosewheel, taildragger, homebuilt, older aircraft, newer aircraft. It’s quite the eclectic mix.”

Collectively, these three HOA members (all three are former Air Force officers) estimated that there are roughly 45 airworthy aircraft based in the community. This number is not inclusive of certain other aircraft that call Kelly Airpark home. Outside of the in-restoration aircraft, or homebuilts in varying stages of completion, a number of gliders are based at CO15. 

History

The airpark’s ties to soaring trace back many years, and the community was once named the Black Forest Glider Park Subdivision. Kelly Airpark has now grown to 57 lots, 38 homes, and 43 hangars, while still keeping its roots in non-powered flight. 

“The airpark was formed by a gentleman named Ben Kelly. Ben was a pilot and long-time sport aviation enthusiast. He had some family land he was looking to turn into a development, and some friends of his suggested he make it an airpark and they would buy the first lot! That is how it started,” said Hoover. 

“Shortly after that, Ben—at the suggestion of friends—started working with the Black Forest Soaring Society to make the development their new home since they were losing their original home in Black Forest.”

Derge, who in addition to being an airline pilot is a CFI-G, elaborated further on the connection between the fly-in community and soaring.

“I think the glider operations at Kelly Airpark add to the many things that make our airpark a special place. The airfield is very active on the weekends with glider activity that runs the spectrum from introductory training to competition practice. Our airpark is also ideally situated to take advantage of wave soaring when conditions allow. We have a committee of powered and glider representatives that meets annually to review our pattern procedures to ensure a safe operation with minimal noise impact to our neighbors.”

As Derge alluded to, the airport was constructed with operational safety in mind. 

“Ben Kelly deserves the credit for keeping safety in mind for the runway design. On either side of the asphalt runway there is about 170 feet of grass plus 30-foot-wide gravel taxiways. Then there is a required 100-foot set-back for any structure from the edge of the taxiway, giving about 300 feet of clearway on either side of the runway. That much clear space really provides for a lot of flexibility and safety during operations,” Norman said.

He then concluded with his own viewpoint as the newest full-time addition to the fly-in community. “I am probably the newest resident and just completed our home and moved in on the 26th of May. I’ve been looking at Kelly Airpark for thirty years and bought [a lot] in 2018,” Norman said. “When I told my friends what we were doing, most of them were like, ‘Why in the world would you want to do that? And the best way that I think to explain it is that some people like to live on a golf course. Some people want to live on a lake or a marina. Well, I don’t golf and I don’t want to boat, so I live at an airpark because I like airplanes. And that’s the reason I live at Kelly Airpark, along with all of the great aviation-minded people that are here. You get a great set of neighbors with a common interest and amazing backgrounds.”

The post Colorado Airpark Has an Eye Toward the Future appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I flash back to the morning of my 16th birthday, staring bug-eyed at the empty right seat of the flight school Cessna 150. “Just do what you’ve learned the last three years, and you’ll be fine,” Jerry Graham said as he climbed out. Mind you, on this first solo I’ve only had a half-day of preparation, but the principle still applies: concentrate on procedures, and the butterflies dissipate.

I look around the PW-6’s tiny cockpit and make a final before-takeoff check: seat belt, canopy, controls, tow-rope release, rope taut and free of knots. I give Jason a thumbs up, and he picks up my left wingtip. I take a deep breath, say a silent prayer, and waggle my rudder, signaling the tow pilot that I’m ready to go.

The roar of the towplane’s engine is distant and somehow unreal, but the surge of acceleration is instantaneous. Jason runs along for a few paces; once he falls back, it takes nearly full aileron to keep the wing off the ground until airflow increases. I have a sense of being on a funhouse ride as I jolt across the turf, feeling every divot. The relentless pull of the towplane makes me feel at the mercy of the beast. That’s not quite the case: I still have directional control, and I have a yellow tow release handle if I really want to stop.

The most likely abort scenario would involve a problem with the towplane’s engine, and if it so much as hiccups at low altitude, the tow pilot will pull his own rope release and leave me to fend for myself. I am quite dependent on him for the first minute or two of the tow—and yet, oddly, he is even more dependent on me. As I reach flying speed and break ground, I am careful to level a few feet above the grass runway, until the towplane begins its climb. Letting the glider wander too high at this point would forcibly lift the towplane’s tail and cause a disastrous dive into the ground.

Sarah told me that there have been several such accidents in the last few years, two of them fatal. Now, this tow pilot knows I’m on my first glider solo and must be spring-loaded to pull the release if I show the slightest homicidal tendency—but if I were particularly careless, he might not have time to react. It’s a strange sort of intimacy I’m sharing with the person on the other side of this rope, a gruff man I only briefly met. I stay laser focused on the towplane and slide into proper position as he begins his climb, feeling for the trim knob with my left hand and easing it forward to relieve the forward force on the stick.

We climb through 200 feet agl. From here, I could make it back to the runway in case of a rope break or release, a feat that always surprises power pilots for whom such a low-altitude turnback must spell disaster. I know it’s possible because I did it myself a few minutes ago when Sarah pulled the release handle without warning, right at 200 feet.

My sense of shock was appropriately realistic—I wasn’t expecting a simulated rope break then. I recovered my wits and smartly rolled into a 45-degree bank to the left, like I’d briefed before takeoff. As the airspeed decayed to 56 knots, I eased the back pressure to maintain max L/D, our best glide speed in still air. The runway came into view, and I made a quick S-turn to maneuver onto final. Surprisingly, we had plenty of altitude to spare, and I actually used the spoilers to get down. I touched down and rolled to the staging zone, where Sarah asked me if I was ready to do it by myself. I gulped and said yes.

This time, 10 minutes later, the rope holds and the towplane makes a left turnout to the south. I concentrate on staying perfectly behind and just above him, and once we’re above 1,000 feet I practice “boxing the wake.” Flying a glider on tow is a bit like formation flying—if your every move also affected the lead ship and they were aware of every control input you made—and if getting out of position could result in a nasty jerk or rope break. You learn to keep the rope taut, and you also practice slack-line recovery maneuvers.

I linger on tow up to nearly 3,000 feet; Sarah told me to go play a bit and enjoy my first solo, but it’s still early afternoon and the “lift” (glider-speak for thermals and other rising air) is looking fairly indifferent with only a few wispy fair-weather cumulus dotting the sky. Finally, I pull the release, the rope leaps away with a sprang, and the towplane dives away to the left while I maintain altitude and bank right. The dull roar of the towplane’s engine is replaced by the whisper of the wind and I set off to the west in search of lift.

Everything Zen

I can’t pinpoint a single factor that made me decide to get my glider rating. My wife, Dawn, has lately accused me of being a rating-chaser because I got my seaplane rating and haven’t used it much, and I want to do the multiengine sea, though I have no realistic hope of using it, ever. Similarly, I originally started skydiving with the intention of going no further than the student course. And the truth is, given where we are in our lives, there’s little chance that I will put a glider rating to good use in the near future. One could suppose there’s a certain amount of machismo involved (OK, you can waterski, but can you drop a ski? You can fly, but can you fly with no engine?). I don’t think that’s what’s going on here, though; this is more of a Zen thing.

Almost everything I’ve done in general aviation over the last 10 years has been along two parallel veins: honing my stick and rudder skills to become more perfectly one with the airplane, and simplifying my flying to more perfectly resemble the ideal of natural, unaided bird flight—to become as one with the sky.

Some of this is clearly a rebellion against the stultifying rigidity of my airline pilot profession, and some is an attempt to knock off the calcification of middle age and claw back the proficiency of my freight-dogging youth. By their very nature, sailplanes demand and reward smoothness and precision—and seat-of-the-pants judgment—in a way that modern airliners do not. As for childhood dreams of bird flight, I’ve tried a lot of things, including wind-in-your-hair sky sports like hang gliding and skydiving. Nothing comes quite as close as soaring.

On an aesthetic level, I think gliding produces a purer relationship between the pilot and the machine, and between the pilot and the sky. Staying airborne becomes about skill, about being in tune with your aircraft and your environment. Flying is incredibly sensual in a glider. You feel the jostle of lift as you enter it, sense where it’s strongest by which wing it lifts. You visualize the movement of air in smoke and dust, in telltale clouds, and in the other creatures (avian and human) sharing your airspace. Soaring flight is not exactly silent, but the primary sound is that of your craft slicing through the air. Most gliders are now equipped with electronic varios that add a wonderfully whimsical, musical sound to lift: a happy, lilting song when entering, and a sad-trombone dirge when lift dies.

It Takes a Village

In thinking about gliding, there’s one word I keep coming back to: relationship. It is apropos in many ways: not only in the relationships between the pilot and their machine and environment, but also in the bonds of friendship formed between kindred spirits of the same feather.

Soaring is a communal sport. It must be, for it takes a village to rig, move, launch, tow, and retrieve a glider. Seldom will you get a crew together to launch just one or two gliders. Either the fleet flies together, or nobody flies at all. Soaring clubs are the rule. Good-
natured competition is the norm, and a great deal of socializing takes place before, during, and after weekend gaggles. Commercial operators like Chilhowee are surprisingly rare, and even Chilhowee feels very much like a club.

It’s appropriate, then, that Chilhowee Gliderport is owned and operated by a young married couple—Sarah and Jason—and that I was introduced to them by two dear friends I’ve written of in these pages before, Sylvia and Hugh Grandstaff. Sarah is the primary instructor and designated examiner at Chilhowee, but Jason also instructs, and they tag-team ground crew, tow pilot, and maintenance duties.

Besides the sleek, high-performance PW-6 I flew, Chilhowee trains students in a beautifully restored Schweizer 2-33 and also has several single-place ships for rent, as well as two converted crop-dusters for aerotow. It’s a neat little operation in a beautiful location in the shadow of Chilhowee Ridge in the southeastern corner of Tennessee, which attracts pilots from around the world.

Quite apart from running Chilhowee, Sarah Arnold is best known in the soaring community as one of the top competitive glider racing pilots in the world. In fact, shortly before my visit, she won the standard class gold medal at the Women’s World Gliding Championship in Lake Keepit, Australia. Sylvia Grandstaff has been good friends with Sarah for years and was one of her Team USA teammates at Lake Keepit; she suggested that if I wanted to get my glider rating, I should learn from the best.

Soaring With Hawks

On a bright September morning, Dawn and I pulled into Chilhowee after a long drive from New York City. When I first met Sarah, she came across as quiet and unassuming, almost shy. But I caught a hawklike intensity in her eyes and noted the economic purposefulness of her movements. When I asked her a question, she’d think intently for a moment and reply with a short, succinct answer that conveyed exactly the information I wanted to know. In nearly three decades in aviation, I’ve come to recognize Sarah’s type, and when they speak, I listen. She’s a pro, and I quickly came to feel a certain kinship with her, though our particular corners of the piloting profession are rather far apart.

In the glider on our first lesson, I got to watch Sarah fly for a minute or two. She had me take off and box the wake, and fly the release; but a few minutes later, a little turbulence jostled the glider and Sarah suddenly said, “My controls, I think there might be a bit of lift there.” As I relinquished the stick, she threw the glider into a 60 degree bank to the left, got another jostle, entered a steep right turn, and circled for 90 seconds, varying the bank and turn radius slightly. Finally, she shrugged and said, “not much there,” turning the controls back over to me. But even those two minutes gave me something to use.

A few flights later, when Sarah pulled the tow release on me at 200 feet, my turn back to the runway was her turn: smooth, coordinated but aggressive. My natural tendency, given the glider’s seemingly dainty airframe and long-winged grace, was to fly it like a 737 with 179 sinners’ souls and one saintly grandma in the back. Sarah showed me with one deft movement how to fly this sleek bird, whether in an emergency response to a rope break or in a champion glider racer’s pursuit of transitory lift.

Now, on my first solo in a glider, off the tow and free to roam, I try to put myself in Sarah’s place. Where would she look for lift? That cool river valley I’m about to cross clearly isn’t it; the vario confirms the area of sink and I (rather counter-intuitively) push the stick forward to get through it quickly. That half-grown bean field? The vario shrugs noncommittally.

I continue on to a scraggly-looking corn field and am rewarded with a distinct jostle that forces the left wing upward. I sling into a steep left turn and the vario begins to sing a happy song of lift before falling silent. I bank hard to get back to the thermal, but fly out of it even more quickly. Then I see a red-tailed hawk circling below me, and I realize that the lift is a little more downwind. I ease the bank, approach at an oblique angle, and as the vario breaks into steady song, I throw the glider into a tight circle, “centering” the thermal. The hawk appears at my altitude and circles opposite me, completely nonplussed by his white-winged companion.

After a few minutes and 1,500 feet of climbing, the lift dies abruptly; nothing I do seems to bring it back, and the hawk disappears. But it was a beautiful moment while it lasted.

In the Weeds

After soaring majestically with the hawk, it’s time to get in the weeds with the turkeys. I’ve elected to go for a commercial add-on rating, and that means I need 20 solo takeoffs and landings. This is to get comfortable with what are the most demanding parts of glider operations: launch procedures and traffic patterns.

The most common glider fatality is the stall/spin accident. It tends to occur when pilots try to stretch their glide range to the gliderport rather than accepting “landing out,” which seldom results in injury or damage to the glider but always involves a fair amount of crew work and a certain measure of bruised ego.

Ideally, one enters the pattern with enough energy that the base and final is flown with a partially deployed spoiler. The spoiler is analogous to the throttle in powered aircraft; it is used to adjust the glidepath as needed, and it makes the glider surprisingly
airplane-like in the pattern. The really important thing is to stay coordinated. The glider’s long wings result in an enormous amount of adverse yaw, and you have to lead turns with the rudder.

Surprisingly, I get in half of my solo flights on the first day of training. Apart from the first solo with the hawk, all are tows to slightly above pattern altitude, a quick release, and a normal traffic pattern with landing a few minutes after takeoff. You could make nine stop-and-gos in an hour with a powered airplane, but in the glider I have to get turned around and hooked back up to the towplane. Over the afternoon, it becomes more routine, and every ground turn goes quicker and smoother. By the end of the day, I have made 15 flights, 10 of them solo, and I am well on my way to a glider rating.

The Change Up

The next morning, I arrive to the gliderport and find that I’ll be flying with Jason today, since Sarah will be administering my check ride. Jason is an interesting guy; he’s an accomplished glider pilot in his own right but happily lives in the shadow of his wife’s virtuosity, crewing for her at glider racing contests.

Jason and Sarah have different and complementary personalities: where she is quiet and intense, he is gregarious and laid-back, the surfer dude to her gunny sergeant. In other circumstances, I think Jason and I would get along famously but on this morning, we fail to mesh. I’m too keyed up today, too conscious of the approaching check ride and possible weather delays, ready to master this machine.

Our first flight features several mutual misunderstandings and some rather sloppy wake-boxing on my part, which comes as little surprise: plateauing and even backsliding a bit just before check rides has always been my modus operandi.

But then as we practice stalls, I have trouble getting the glider to break cleanly to Jason’s satisfaction, and my frustration catches up to me. After two attempts, I give the stick a good yank; the nose comes up rapidly, the wing loads up, and sure enough, the glider gives up the ghost quite definitively, starting to drop a wing before I stop it with a stab of rudder. Jason is characteristically unflappable: “Well, that was more of an airshow maneuver; we try to go a little easier on ’em…”

Crimson rises in my cheeks. I didn’t break any limitations, but I showed the hamfistedness of an amateur. I think back to when I did something similar in the Cessna 150 at the tender age of 13. “Now Sam,” admonished Jerry, “you have to treat the airplane like a woman.” Of course, I had no clue about women at that age, but I understood Jerry’s gist, and with his gentle hints, I learned to keep the airplane in trim, fly with my fingertips, and make smooth control inputs that resulted in even changes of load factor. It’s technique that has served me well in airplanes from the Piper J-3 to the Boeing 767. Now I take a deep breath, clear my mind of the bad energy that’s built up over this flight, and make a much smoother approach to stall with a clean but less aggressive break.

After lunch, Jason and I have a much better flight, and then I set about pounding through all my remaining solo trips around the pattern. Toward the end of the day, I have enough time to take a high tow, get out of the pattern, and attempt to thermal with the hawks again. There’s not a lot of lift around, just enough to maintain altitude for a while, and I play a “what-if” game of what I would do if I were actually attempting to go somewhere in these fickle conditions.

A Pilot Reborn

The weather is quite marginal the next morning, and Jason and I spend it on a mock oral exam, during which I learn quite a bit about cross-country and contest-flying strategy.

The following day, we get skunked completely by low clouds and rain. Instead, Dawn and I load up our Nissan Xterra and go exploring the muddy logging roads and misty peaks of the Great Smoky Mountains. We enjoy a nice quiet night in our cabin tucked into a river valley on the east side of the Chilhowee Ridge, sipping wine and studying glider textbooks by the firelight.

• READ MORE: Other articles by FLYING contributor Sam Weigel

Thankfully, the weather breaks and the next morning dawns clear and cold. I arrive at Chilhowee early, ready for the check ride and completely free of jitters. By my count, I’ve had 51 check rides thus far in my career, and while a few were less than perfect, so far I’ve managed to avoid a pink slip; I generally do my best flying under pressure.

Sure enough, both the oral and flight test go very well. Sarah pulls the tow release at 200 feet on the very first takeoff, but by now I expect such shenanigans, and at this point, 200 feet seems like tons of altitude in this sleek ship.

We make several more flights in quick succession, testing tow procedures and airwork, and various types of landings.

By lunchtime, the ink is drying on my new ATP certificate, with its amended line: “Commercial Privileges – Airplane Single Engine Land and Sea; Glider.” Handshakes are exchanged, photos are taken; I’m a new glider pilot. What now?

Time will tell. My new home in the Pacific Northwest is not prime soaring territory, and procuring a single-seat glider will likely take a backseat to buying a four-seat taildragger to share with my wife, dog, and friends. At least Chilhowee is within striking range of my airline’s major hub in Atlanta, and there are many other cool soaring destinations around the U.S. that have affordable gliders for rent.

But what you do with the rating is almost irrelevant. The real value of glider training lies in the sharpening of stick and rudder skills and the honing of airmanship that it provides. This carries over to all of your flying, regardless of number of engines or lack thereof. That alone is good reason to make getting your glider rating a top priority. The fact that it’s a beautiful experience and a hell of a lot of fun is just the cherry on top.

Getting a Glider Certificate

It’s straightforward—and you will learn a lot about airmanship, micro-scale weather, and aerodynamics.

IF YOU’RE JUST STARTING TO FLY, you can get your initial private pilot certificate in gliders with an aero-tow or other endorsement:

• Be 16 years old
• Pass a knowledge test
• Fly with an instructor for 30 to 40 flights pre-solo, and thenlog at least two solo hours and a total of 10 hours in gliders
• Pass a practical test

If you already have a pilot certificate with an airplane rating, you can add the glider rating by:

• Flying with an instructor, and then logging 10 solo flights
• Passing a practical test (no knowledge exam is required)

Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared in the Q2 2022 issue of FLYING Magazine.

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The problem, of course, is that procrastination can set in. Years may pass as pilots find excuses for putting off that instrument, glider, or seaplane rating until next year or “when I have some free time.” But taking on new challenges is a great way to keep your old skills sharp while tapping more of your aircraft’s potential as a traveling machine. 

Below are a few possible next steps for private pilots who want to continue to grow as aviators while expanding their traveling territory.

Complex/High Performance Endorsements

Regarding bang for the buck, this might be the best move newly minted private pilots can make. These endorsements get you into faster airplanes that are more capable and comfortable for long-distance travel.

The FAA defines “high-performance” as having an engine with more than 200 horsepower. Complex means an airplane has flaps, retractable landing gear, and a controllable-pitch propeller. Many aircraft fit both categories so it is easy to work on the endorsements together. Your instructor can sign off once you show proficiency. There is no set number of hours required. Figure on 10 hours but don’t be surprised if it takes a few more. Flying a complex, high-performance airplane is like learning how to cook after years of reheating frozen food. There is more to do but the results are oh-so rewarding.

Instrument Rating

Learning to fly on instruments is a serious undertaking with many requirements. In some ways it is like learning to fly again, exams, check ride and all. Some of the hours required, including 50 hours of cross-country flight as pilot in command and 40 hours of actual or simulated instrument time covering the FAA-specified areas of instruction, may sound like a lot. But you will accumulate the time quickly while training for the rating.

What the rating gives you is the ability to fly legally in instrument meteorological conditions that would ground non-instrument pilots. You may be able to start that vacation flight now instead of waiting for the low overcast to clear. But staying current and proficient is up to the pilot and might be the most difficult part of instrument flying. If you cannot realistically devote time to regular recurrent training and to flying often in actual IMC, then an instrument rating could be more of a liability than an asset.

Here’s a good starting point: If you can read all the way through section 61.65 of the Federal Aviation Regulations without feeling overwhelmed, afraid or numb, you might be ready to pursue the rating.

Seaplane Rating

This is a rating, not an endorsement, so you have to pass a check ride with a designated pilot examiner. However, there is no set time requirement and many seaplane programs are set up for getting the rating over two or three days of training. This is a lot like the weekend courses for obtaining a motorcycle license. There is a lot to learn but you can do it once you cut out the distractions.

Flying a seaplane has obvious travel implications. Parts of the world with far more lakes and rivers than runways become destinations. There are many rustic resorts and remote lakeside camps that are accessible only by boat or seaplane, so being able to fly one is like having an exclusive passport. Amphibious floats let you keep the option of landing on paved runways. Or opt for straight floats and commit to life on the water.

Tailwheel Endorsement

Speaking of passports, tailwheel airplanes will also get you into special places where pilots of other types might fear to tread, from grass strips to gravel bars in secluded rivers. Taildraggers often attract people who want to embrace their inner bush pilot while visiting fly-in lodges and remote resorts. Like seaplanes, they open the door to normally inaccessible spots.

Tailwheel flying can also make you a better pilot in part because of ground-handling characteristics that require sensitivity and precision with the controls. As a crop duster in western Kansas told me a dozen years ago, tailwheel flying forces you to use the rudder and use it well—a notion lost on many pilots. While aircraft with tricycle landing gear are easier to land than tailwheel airplanes, the latter are not as difficult as some would have you believe. Budget 10 hours, though with the right attitude, it might take far less time.  

Glider Rating

Pilots spend a lot of time worrying about engine failures and having to glide to an emergency landing. A glider rating will take away at least some of the fear and uncertainty by showing you what an airplane can do without an engine. No, the Rockwell Commander 114 I flew last weekend won’t glide like a Duo Discus. But the enhanced connection and awareness one can experience with a glider will help piston pilots manage flight energy and make better landings with or without power.

You can also travel in a glider. There is a ridge near my home airport that stretches all the way to Georgia. At least that is what a local glider pilot told me recently. He said he has flown his glider there and back while riding the lift coming off the ridge. You just have to hope the wind keeps blowing.

The post Five Ratings and Endorsements for Travelers appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

There are dozens of gliderports across the United States, all of which are integral in supporting these passionate aviators’ unpowered aerial interests. Seminole-Lake Gliderport in Clermont, Florida is one of the busiest gliderports in the country.

Just 20 minutes west of Disney World, Seminole-Lake, since its founding has been the origin for approximately 300,000 tows, more than 2,000 glider ratings, and about 50,000 glider rides. The growing numbers can largely be attributed to two factors; great weather and a passionate community of both seasoned and novice soaring enthusiasts. 

“[At Seminole-Lake Gliderport] we are flying year-round,” said Mihaela Luculescu, the office manager at Seminole-Lake. “This makes us appealing to the soaring crowd, as we are not restricted by seasons, like many other commercial operators and clubs in the U.S. We are open 7 days a week, weather permitting. There can be anywhere between 100 tows, on a slow week, to 300 or more tows on a good week, if the weather works too.”

“Most of gliderports in the United States are run as a club, so one needs to become a member of the club to be able to fly with them. Training is generally much cheaper in a club setting than with a commercial operation; however, it takes much longer. That’s the primary reason most pilots prefer to train and get their glider rating at commercial gliderports and then return to their local club to fly the club’s gliders.”

Luculescu explained the differences between gliderports that are home to commercial operations, which Seminole-Lake is, versus those with a club.  

Gliding Into a Comfort Zone

Luculescu first visited Seminole-Lake Gliderport in 2014 and has been managing the business’ operations since 2017. The year after she took over at Seminole-Lake, Mihaela received her private pilot glider certificate. But, like many other aviators, she doesn’t find as much time to dedicate to flying as she’d like. 

“Although I don’t fly as much as I [had initially] wished to, going through the training helped me understand in depth all aspects of this business, from overseeing the company’s flight safety to how the cash flows within it and the performance of our students.”

In addition to nurturing an interest in soaring, a personal connection to the airfield also helped Luculescu transition into her role. 

“Through my family [I first became involved with the gliderport], as the current owner of Seminole-Lake is Romanian and has worked with my father in the Air Force. We are aviation enthusiasts and enjoy supporting the sport of soaring both in the U.S. and Romania.” 

The Move That Changed Everything

In 2008, the property was purchased by Mihai Tanjala, a serial entrepreneur with business interests in several countries. Prior to the Tanjala’s caretaking of Seminole-Lake, the airfield was owned and operated by Knut and Ingrid Kjenslie. 

In 1981, the Kjenslies moved across the country from Denver, Colorado, after purchasing the Flying Seminole Ranch in Oviedo, Florida. But six years later, there became an imminent need for the gliderport to be moved.

“In 1987, it became clear that the airspace surrounding Orlando International Airport would become a TCA (terminal control area), requiring all aircraft to have transponders. This airspace would encompass Flying Seminole Ranch and would make it impossible for soaring at this site. 

“A decision was made that Knut and Ingrid wanted to continue the soaring business, so they embarked on trying to find land outside the 30 nautical mile radius of Orlando International,” Luculescu said. “It took almost two years of looking for land that could be attainable, the right size, and a price that would be feasible. They found the ‘For Sale’ sign in pouring rain on Thanksgiving Day 1987. It was pastureland used for cattle and other farm/ranch use.”

Along with finding the site that the Kjenslies deemed suitable for soaring operations, they dropped the fixed-wing flight training they had previously provided and began only offering glider-related services. In addition to growing a strong Argentine Bahia grass for the runway, the gliderport was renamed as Seminole-Lake. This title incorporates both the business’ previous roots in Seminole County, as well as its new location in Lake County. 

The stability provided by the gliderport’s new location has been crucial to the business’s growth. Mihaela additionally notes that the airfield has long hosted one of the nation’s flagship glider flying competitions. 

“Every March Seminole-Lake Gliderport hosts the largest single class cross country contest in the U.S., where 60 pilots compete in a week-long race,” Luculescu said. “We just ended our 32nd Senior Soaring Championship. 

“If you happen to be in Central Florida in March you’re welcome to come and see what these guys do, which is pretty impressive. You’ll get to see the best pilots in the U.S. competing in the best ships available on the market.”

The invitation for the general public to watch glider operations isn’t limited to this or other events held at Seminole-Lake. The gliderport is accommodating to both novice and experienced glider pilots, as well as those with no aviation experience.

“Besides the usual crowd of pilots that come to add their glider rating, at Seminole-Lake we offer initial glider training for people that don’t hold yet a pilots’ license, as well as rides for locals or visitors in Central Florida,” Luculescu said.

If You Want to Glide

There are three types of rides available, all of which are either in a Grob 103 or Super Blanik L-23:

• Intro to Soaring: Tow to 3,000 ft; lasts approximately 15 to 20 minutes
• Scenic Adventure Ride: Tow to 4,000 ft; lasts approximately 25 to 35 minutes
• Mile-High Ride: Tow to 5,000 ft; lasts approximately 30 to 50 minutes

Luculescu mentions that there are three ways to launch a glider: 

• aerotow
• self-launch
• ground-tow (auto or winch)  

At Seminole-Lake, all of their gliders are launched via the aerotow method. 

The operation’s three towplanes are Piper Pawnee PA-25s, one having a 270 hp engine and the two others having 235 hp. Both the towplanes and the gliders are flown by experienced pilots and instructors, who collectively hold many decades of experience and tens of thousands of hours of flight time. 

For those wanting to fly an aircraft to Seminole-Lake, there are posted “Field Rules” and general information to follow once advance permission is received. The sole north/south turf runway has displaced thresholds at both ends and. Including these thresholds—600 ft and 300 ft respectively—the runway is 3,000 ft long by 200 ft wide. Field elevation is 120 ft and the unicom frequency is 123.3. 

The post This Gliderport’s Numbers Are Soaring appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Innovative Brazilian aeronautical engineer Paulo Iscold has accomplished another impressive feat, this time taking a revolutionary sailplane into the skies. Iscold has for the past few years been working on Nixus, a glider that, he claims, has the second highest aspect ratio of any sailplane at 53.3 to 1 (the Concordia Superseigler’s aspect ratio is 57 to 1).

What makes Nixus truly unique is its fly-by-wire ailerons and flaps. The rudder, elevator and airbrake on the Nixus are mechanically linked. Iscold said there are 12 flaps on the wings that act both as flaps and ailerons concurrently. One great benefit of having a fly-by-wire system, Iscold said, is the ability to change the angle of deflection of the controls very quickly in a computer program. After the successful 35-minute first flight, Iscold will use the data to continue to tweak the design and widen the flight envelope. He expects to take the Nixus to the skies again in about two weeks.

The first flight was conducted by Jim Payne, who is the chief pilot of the Perlan Project and has broken numerous soaring records, including the highest glider flight with the Perlan II, which has climbed beyond 76,000 feet. Payne and the Nixus were pulled off the ground at the Castle Airport in Merced, California, by a Piper Pawnee towplane. Payne and his wife Jackie have been involved throughout the Nixus project.

Iscold has been intimately involved in optimizing pilot performance at the Red Bull Air Races and has designed several record-breaking light airplanes, including Anequim, which wrung 282 knots out of a Lycoming IO-360.

The Nixus project has been in the making for about a decade and was spurred by Iscold’s Brazilian friend Sergio Andrade. The fuselage was purchased and Iscold designed the wings and flight controls. The project suffered a major setback last summer as the 93-foot wing snapped at the junction between the outboard and inboard wing panels during structural testing. After an unnamed famous sailplane designer told Iscold he wasn’t capable of completing the project, he considered abandoning it. But several people convinced Iscold to continue. “It’s a huge relief to put another one in the air,” he said. Today he sees the failure as a blessing as it allowed him to involve students from Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, California, where Iscold started working as a professor last year. About 25 people in total have contributed to the project, including one of Iscold’s Brazilian students who worked on flutter testing.

Like his other projects, Iscolde said his goal with Nixus is not commercial production, but to develop technologies to make sailplanes better and to use the project as an educational tool to encourage students to achieve higher goals and to never give up.

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