One of the bennies promised by CFI Dave as he lured me into the world of tailwheel aviation was that, at the conclusion of my course of instruction in the mighty 7GCAA Citabria, I would be offered a flight free of charge in his 1937 1947 Stearman.
The machine was down for a new set of magnetos after I got my endorsement with a total of three flights and 3.6 hours dual instruction (and if Dave was at all fashed by the low return on investment, he had the kindness not to show it) but was up today, so it was off to Horrible East County for to go a’flying, open cockpit, tailwheel/biplane-style.
Dave lives in a hangar at the airport with his bride of many several years, his Stearman, Citabria and a Cessna 310 down below, and the living apartments up above. Retired for some time from a fast-paced business career, he augments his 201K with flying lessons when he takes a shine to the student. It’s in many ways an enviable arrangement.
His machine is so goram pretty that I was almost afraid at first to touch it, far less manipulate the actual controls. It shows a deep pride of ownership and the kind of obsessive love and attention to detail Shakespeare never quite got ’round to writing about. Dave offered me the choice between flying from the rear, from whence the aircraft is invariably soloed, or the front, from whence I might see where I was a-going, like. Not liking my chances of every soloing such a marvelously fragile machine, I chose to go up front, rather than spend the 1.3 hours looking at the back of Dave’s head, objectively lovely though it may be.
After a few moments talking about our overall scheme of maneuver – Runway 27R take-off, downwind departure from Gillespie Field, east of El Capitan and airwork over the reservoir before heading to Ramona to practice our landing technique – Dave gave me the skinny on the Stearman. Two-hundred and twenty-five horses throbbing up front (the 450 HP variant gives you an extra 10 knots) combined with a large prop and lots of moving metal forward meant you had to stay busy on the rudders during take-off, especially as the tail comes up. Off at 55 knots or so, climb out at 70-75 knots and cruise at all of 85. Sixty-five to seventy knots in the landing pattern, flying an arcing approach to final rather than the box pattern general aviation pilots are so inexplicably enamored with.
That, at least, would feel like home to a naval aviator.
The landing gear struts have effective shock absorbing oleos in ‘em, which allows for a bit of finesse on the wheel landings, which Dave assured me would be simpler than they had been in the Citabria. Three-point landings, conversely, could be a little tricky since there was so much weight carried high, the fuel all residing in the top wing. One has to be careful adding power on take-off or on the go-around, since the normally aspirated radial engine has the tendency to gasp a bit when you put the spurs to her. Nice and easy does it, at least until you get a good 1200 RPM, and then fire away.
Will she quit on us, or merely hack? I asked. Unhappy memories of a certain Aeronca Champ still fresh in my mind.
She’ll never quit, he answered. But she will hack. A rapid reduction and re-application of throttle should do well to clear her throat. Dave got her cranked from the back, and then the aircraft was mine – all mine! – to taxi for to take-off.
Attentive readers may have noted videos of old school tailwheel aircraft S-turning down various and sundry taxiways like sailors coming home from a long night in Alongopo. It turns out that such variability from the Platonic Ideal of the yellow stripe going straight down between your legs has less to do with inattention to niceties than to the fact that one cannot see a damned thing looking right forward, what with all that metal taking on attitudes, nose in the air. So I experimentally see-sawed from side to side every 100 yards or so, if only to ensure that nothing had interposed itself in our path, while trying desperately to memorize the sight picture of the aircraft sitting on three points at ground level. I’d need that for later on.
The run-up was unremarkable, 1500 RPM and both mags checked for attentiveness to their respective duties. With final clear and Tower’s permission, we took 27R for a bit of high speed taxi work at 25 knots or so, just to get our feet warmed up. Satisfied that man and machine were suitably in synch, Dave asked why we shouldn’t go flying, so I shoved the throttle up to 2000 RPM and off we went.
I’ve been taught two take-off techniques in tailwheel aircraft; the first is to hold the stick aft until you feel the tail start to work in the breeze and then relax it to a neutral position, allowing the machine to get airborne when it’s good and ready. The second is to shove the stick full forward as the throttle hits the stops, which serves to load the main mounts with negative angle of attack until you decide to rotate to a fly-away attitude. Both are equally valid, but the latter involves a fair amount of gyroscopic precession as the tail comes up, especially in a radial engine trainer. Dave had us opt for the first, and – once again – I was treated to the still-unfamiliar sensation of breaking earth without any pilot intervention whatsoever, apart from a several second old decision to run the engine up.
And then suddenly, we were airborne.
Robert Pirsig wrote in his “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” that the motorcyclist has a different view on the world than does an automobile driver. The latter sees the world through a windshield not unlike a television viewer sees it through his TV screen, while the former is in the environment. (He also wrote a gret deal more about “Quality” and “Chataquas” to someone as named “Phaedras” but none of that sticks with me much.) But motorcyclist that I am, I was nonetheless thrilled at my first experience of flying with the top down, a big engine purring right in front of me and the wind whipping this way and that, no glass between me and all the world, apart from the cloth helmet on my head and the goggles it sported. Wearing my best $100 Osan Special leather jacket, I lacked only for a scarf and a worthy adversary coming at me out of the sun. It was an absolute hoot, and I nearly wore my chops out with the grinning.
What with two wings on either side, turns were accomplished as much with rudder as with aileron, and the power-off stall was announced more clearly by a certain whippy vagueness in the control stick as any class of objectionable buffet. Accelerated stalls in steep turns merely returned the machine to level flight, which characteristic I found remarkably fore-sighted on the part of the aircraft designers. If they weren’t just lucky.
I would have loved to put her through some aerobatics, but neither of us were wearing parachutes and both of us had too much to lose, so after a few minutes of making friends, it was off to Ramona.
Which, the automated terminal information service informed us, was using Runway 9, the winds being uncharacteristically out of the north, bearing 010 at 15 knots. My happy smile turned into a thoughtful frown, for a nearly ninety-degree crosswind in a new/old aircraft is a bit much to take on, all at once.
Well, let’s just give it a go, said Dave, and I’ll fly the first as a demo, see what we’ve got. But don’t be disappointed if we have to end up going back to Gillespie.
Our resolve was rewarded, for in the event it wasn’t so bad as all that. Dave came to a gradual stop, gave me the machine back and then it was my go. My first wheel landing in a month and a bit wasn’t awful, but neither was it the kind of thing to boast upon, having waited a trice longer than I ought to have to force the tail back up again after a relatively smooth landing, the shock absorbers taking the load off, cushioned with a bit of power. The second was unfortunately worse, as I landed a few knots fast, placed the stick forward and then – eagerly anticipating the pitch change that announces tail stall – pulled the stick back in my lap before the old Stearman had quite given up the ghost, not to mention flying speed. The machine struggled manfully airborne, which was not at all the thing, given that the throttle was on the idle stops and gravity still beckoned. Together we coached the coughing engine back to full power and flew away in ground effect, CFI Dave no doubt regretting his untoward charity to plumbers and bricklayers masquerading as pilots.
Another two wheel landings followed, and – our minds re-focused on our responsibilities – they were not entirely awful, if I have to say so myself. Two uneventful three-points after that and we were back to Ramona, somewhat regretfully. But it was his money I was spending, and he wouldn’t take a dime off me in recompense, not if it were ever so.
We flew a short approach back to the home drome, and stuck a wheel landing on like we knew what we were doing. Taxied in, shut her down, savored the moment together.
Some day, when the kids are all successfully launched down range and college bills are paid for.
Some day.
May you achieve your dream — sooner rather than later.
Actually, may you achieve ALL your dreams sooner rather than later.
Lex, I love the way you write. You have the gift of not only being elegant with your use of words, but taking your readers there with you and making them feel what you did.
I can’t wait to read your telling of flying, or flying in, an aircraft powered by a radial rotary power plant.
I can read your smile in your words, and then saw the satisfaction in your portrait. Thank you for sharing your joy.
NaCly dog says it for me.
I’m grinning, too.
Ah, yes, the Grin That Won’t Come Off!
There’s another name for that unabashed ear-to-ear grin, but polite company forbids….
Looking at his hair, it’s the Gray Terror, in his Yellow Peril? ( I am a year younger, and have grayer hair )
What’s wrong with Cat Eating Grin that it can’t be said?
The smile says it all.
Have you read “The Cannibal Queen”, by Stephen Coonts?
I haven’t, but I intend to!
“It was an absolute hoot, and I nearly wore my chops out with the grinning.”
What a joy to read of your experience. It is the pleasure of this type of experience that make putting up with the day-to-day challenges worth it.
I suspect that upon reading “The Cannibal Queen” you will find a similarity between his enjoyment and yours on flying the Stearman.
Sweetness and love, sweetness and love. Was all you thought she’d be, I take it by your expression!
Many moons ago (back in the ’70′s) the company I worked for at CCR shared a hangar with a gentleman who rebuilt Stearmans, by the name of Merv Lehman (not sure of the spelling of the last name).
What a pleasure it was to watch him rebuild those ladies and, once rolled out for the first run-up, to listen to a real airplane.
God, I miss those days.
Lex, you could always take up woodworking. Build yourself an F4B-4, perhaps. Or a Fokker D-VII.
I think the F4B-4 was made mostly of square-section aluminum tubes, at least the fuselage. Maybe the spars were wooden? If I and enough other people had enough money, I’d try to get up a fund to buy the Cap’n a Folland Gnat AKA Hindustan Ajeet. I believe there are a few in this country, civilly registered.
P.s. Or was that the -3, and the -4 was monocoque?
The USMC flew the D-VII after WW One, so it would be appropriate for a Naval Aviator. But the since the F4B-4, and the F-18 are both Boeings, it would be more Lex, I guess.
“whippy vagueness” right up there with “goo gobs” and “puddle wonderful”
Excellent.
You write (so well) “One has to be careful adding power on take-off or on the go-around, since the normally aspirated radial engine has the tendency to gasp a bit when you put the spurs to her. Nice and easy does it, at least until you get a good 1200 RPM, and then fire away.”
Reminiscent of the mighty T-Bird. I could get to one hunnert percent faster, with patience, than the teenager-in-front, cobbing it and wondering why nothing happened.
Then there was the General Electric J79-GE-15! Oh my.
1. Glad to see the Stearman had Navy markings. Would you have gone if it were in Air Corps marks?
2. Some people really want to learn to fly. Click and be inspired.
http://tinyurl.com/y8pbd6a
Brad, one thing I have found is that people who have been declared handicapped since birth invariably do not consider themselves handicapped, they merely find themselves capable of doing the same things without the benefit of whatever it is we use for the task. As a co-worker once told me, “My name is W*****, and I’m deaf. I can do everything you can do, except hear. So far that hasn’t been necessary.” (translated from American Sign Language, by me, as best I can).
– Max
Brad, some might believe that had it been Air Corps that the experience would have heightened due to its to-be-admired heritage.
“in many ways an enviable arrangement.” Hah! I have the bad envy for both of y’all at this moment, so much so that if I were to stroke out right now I’m sure I’d Go to Hell, Go Directly to Hell, Do Not Pass St. Peter, Do Not Collect $200!
My Mom got my Dad a ride on a Stearman for his… 50th or 60th birthday. I cannot remember which, both of them not being that long ago as he’s only 69. He had an absolute blast and calls it, ‘the last of the fun flying’. I don’t think I realize HOW MUCH fun he had until I read this post. Made my heart warm…
Nice work!
Lex – Not withstanding a beautiful bit of prose on a very poetic subject, fliterman was blown away by your Pirsig’s Zen and…. reference. Written perhaps just a bit before your time, it remains one of my old, favored reads. (And I don’t even ride…. for very specific and personal good reasons.)
What a completely lovely day down south. I do envy you, a bit.
Lex, your words can have a serious effect upon the marriages of others. Not to mention their financials. Just, so you know, the next time you decide to wax poetic upon the joys of flight you understand you may tip one more teetering uncommitted hobbyist over the edge to where he’ll start pilot training, get a license, buy an airplane, start flying out for $100 cheeseburgers on the weekends, and *then* where will he be?
Are you ready to have such responsibility weighing upon your slightly-greyed head?
Or, I suppose, one might look at it as a burden of rank and experience, a warning to the youngsters that if you are bitten by this bug, well, here’s what to expect, this is where it leads. That seems a more noble motivation.
Back in October I took a ride in an SNJ, vowed that if I had time and money I’d help the pilot keep the machine in shape. I like to wrench as much as I do to fly, especially on really old iron. During the week I was unemployed I helped a neighbor with harvest and ran into a hired man that was a retired aircraft mechanic, Lycoming radials being his preferred motor but had nothing against Continental radials either.
Coincidence, thought I.
The new job pays about 20% more than the old. Enough to fund a hobby, like restoring old aircraft.
That’s not coincidence. That’s either divine intervention or enemy action, depending upon what the Department of Wife thinks of the idea.
— Max
In the meantime, sailing across the Sound to Winslow for that cheeseburger is a ret tolerable option.
She looks good on you, you ought to wear her more often.
In addition to “Cannibal Queen”, I’d like to commend to you the works of Gordon Baxter – “Bax Seat – Log of a Pasture Pilot” and “More Bax Seat – New Logs of a Pasture Pilot”. He wrote eloquently, much like your style, about his love affair with the Stearman.
Touching stuff…much like yours.
Color me jealous.
The picture says it all. Looking good in all respects Lex!
I’m grinning like an idiot here. Thinking I might buy you a scarf…
I know that smile and it doesn’t do justice to the feeling I’m betting you had. Some day indeed…something soothing about the rumbling of a radial.
A Stearman. That’s what the Doc flew. Hope you’ll have a chance to meet him someday.
Subsunk
Thanks for taking all of us flying with you, “top down” as you say.
I was intrigued with Dave and his living arrangements. How also can I convince describe to my wife the joys and possibilities of living at an airport with three aircraft under the living room?
No doubt you had the same thoughts during the drive home from the airport?
I concur with the commenters above me, you write so well that it draws the reader in and makes it real.
One detail you shared took out of time and place. The hundred dollar Osan jacket… Isn’t that exactly right? I spent a fair amount of time at Yechon, and a group of us were given a 96 and flown in helicopters to Osan for all sorts of low-brow enlisted fun along with the shopping.
I shipped the goods home, and everyone got futons for Christmas that year. I didn’t get myself any leather, but I did send her a full length suede coat that she wore for years.
There are still a handful of coins in a can that remind me of that trip.
Chinhae with HAL-5 in ’88 for Team Spirit, with a day off for to explore Osan/Song Tan and rearrange one’s financial data. Somewhere’s the bathrobe with the dragon adorning the back. The rest, jackets and shoes, got lifted and went away. {sigh}.
Stearman biplanes are cool…very cool…Let’s got to video Lax didn’t provide!
lex, lax. Whatevs. That did look kinda fun, right up until the point where the front seat egressed whilst in flight.
Never give up the ship!
It’s OK, so long as a good stick remains to get her ready for the next time aloft…
Parson my Freudian typo…:)
I should quit while I’m still behind…two boxes, two keyboards, one desk, and video editing in the mix right now…while checking on the Adventures of Lex.
Lex: You sure that’s a ’37? Records for N5106N shows it as a 1947 model.
Good catch, thanks!
I was impressed with the Pirsig reference, too… what with me being a biker and all. I’m not of the opinion the book is “before your time” tho, Lex. Unless I’m mistaken.
Buck–depends on whether he read it in the original or the reprint.
I had grinned (wider) at the motorcyle reference. A unique experience of great mental benefit to me; keep trying to find a way to convince myself that it is also physically beneficial, still working on that.
Here is one that is ready to go for the Lex-meister. We all just need to hit that tip jar up there a little harder.
1941 BOEING STEARMAN BARGAIN
1941 BOEING STEARMAN BARGAIN • $39,500 • AVAILABLE FOR IMMEDIATE SALE • A complete flyable classic.! 300 hp Lycoming w/ McCauley prop. “As is-Were is” Won’t last! Call me! • Contact Brad Flickinger, Owner – located Miami, OK USA • Telephone: 918-961-0309 . 918-961-0145 . • Posted December 6, 2009
Reading this reminded me of those days at MAG-32 when the only thing available to fly was the C-117 on a Marlog. And the planes were older than I was. What a remarkable difference in flight attitude in both takeoff and landing. Particularly, landing.
For someone used to setting a 15 degree angle of attack and then using go juice to stay on glide path, it was a very unsettling transition to make an approach that seemed to be 20 nose down only to salvage the event from a worm visit by chopping power and hauling back on the yoke for some nice bouncy bouncy on big balloon tires as you gird yourself for a 20 degree nose up to get the tail down.
As you can see, I wasn’t very good at it. I think my heart wasn’t really in the thing. But you take your flight time where you can get it when you find yourself doing a tour as the Group Legal Officer.
–Krumhorn
Painting with words as it were, you made this old fat landlubber smile, and experience what could rightly be called envy.
Lex,
I have the scarf. Picked it up at the old Boom’s (Boom Trenchard’s Flarepath) on the north side of the approach end of runway 27 at SAN, near Jim’s. I picked it up on a X-country weekend back in 74.
Happy to donate to the cause, if you can use it.
In 1992, I was a visitor at a local grass strip when a gent landed seeking to fuel his thirsty Stearman. He had picked it up at Oshkosh and was flying it home a few states south. Line of sight management elected me to help push the precious flying artifact to within reach of the avgas hose. Talk about a worshipful experience. Perfect, blue and yellow, and full of stories hearable only by an annointed few. Felt oddly compelled to utter very few words in its presence, and then only humbly in hushed tones. And yes, the impassioned heart manifested as a full-day grin.
I was lucky enough to take a quick hop in a Tiger Moth when I was getting my tailwheel endorsement a few years ago – I clearly remember thinking “this is so much fun, it can’t be legal.”
Lex,
After you make your first million off your new book, you could get one of these to fill that empty hole calling for speed and the smell of JP.
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=SkywardMedia#p/u/0/d4lE6HcBPxw