I was able to fly the Chief for the first time in nearly three weeks. The hangar door had been sealed shut by the roof snow load and the footers heaving. The airport manager came by and lifted the door about an inch and made it possible -- but not easy -- to fully open both doors.
The sun was shining and the winds were calm and there were a few scattered cumulus clouds. There was no excuse. I pulled 24286 out and found the snow banks were too close and too high -- back to shoveling.
I dropped my coat and enjoyed the sun's warmth as I removed snow I'd shoveled once already. After three attempts I had enough clearance to make the swing to the main taxiway.
Preflight checks again (it's easier in the bright sunshine), all was as expected. Tied the tail to the car (my stake is under 2' of snow), chocks in, fuel on, four shots of prime, prop through 6 times. She won't move, mags on, way is clear, shoes are dry, throw the prop -- putt-putt-putt... great!
I slid into the seat (no mean fit to put my 6'1" frame into that small door) and held the brakes as I set the RPM to 900 or so. The engine started running smoother in a few minutes. I pulled back to idle, pulled the chocks, untied the tail, and climbed aboard.
Taxiing was a bit of a test as the snow piles on either side were as high and even higher than my wing tips. The surface was rough with new potholes, melting ice, and puddles galore. I taxied over to the fuel point, got 4 gallons and a prop from Jim, and then headed off to runway 27.
This winter had had some of the longer stretches of no flying for me in a few years. That coupled with less than a few hundred hours in tailwheels means I'm learning and re-learning each time I get in. It's almost like visiting your parents after you've moved away -- at first it's all tentative chit-chat, but soon you all adopt the easy familiarity that comes with a close relationship.
Run-up, pre-takeoff checks -- all is good. I announce, hear nothing, check the sky, roll onto 27, and slowly add full throttle.
I lifted the tail a bit briskly and of course didn't compensate for the left turn. I got it back on centerline and let the speed build. Lightweight underpowered tailwheels provide an improved takeoff experience. While nosewheels require pulling back on the yoke and offer a nice view of the sky out the front window, a tailwheel airplane allows you to levitate. You're rolling, and then you're not. The earth is slowly moving down, away from you. You haven't taken off -- the earth merely dropped away at your command.
This sensation is rapidly replaced with the realization that I haven't flown this 70 year old airplane in a while and the powerplant was just sitting in a cold hangar. I bank left, stay clear of the water tower on the hill on left downwind, overfly the new Walmart, and let her climb.
I had limited time and it was far more hazy than I expected, so I stayed near the airport, flying the pattern, climbing, descending, turning, checking carb heat and different power settings. I announced pattern legs until I was above pattern altitude. I asked a Skylane landing at Rostraver if he could hear me -- "Loud and clear" was his reply. Not bad for a 10 year old Sporty's handheld driven by a rechargeable hobby battery fastened to the floor.
I flew for about a half hour, but the weather was already starting to change. The smooth air 1000' AGL was more disturbed air at 2000' AGL.
I tried a power off emergency 180 but wasn't aggressive enough in the slip so tried again and was much better. Finally I decided to land and get back home.
It was doubly important to keep it straight as the runway was an alley, bound by 15' high snow banks on either side. The wingtips wouldn't fare well against that packed ice.
I touched down gently on all three wheels and rolled out to the taxiway. I practiced precision taxiing again and made it back to the hangar.
A few more minutes of airplane shuffle and I had it lined up. I tossed the rope around the tailspring and soon she was pulled back in.
We were reacquainted, but this was more like a brief phone call on a Sunday afternoon. As soon as the weather breaks I promise to come spend more time. I promise...
The sun was shining and the winds were calm and there were a few scattered cumulus clouds. There was no excuse. I pulled 24286 out and found the snow banks were too close and too high -- back to shoveling.
I dropped my coat and enjoyed the sun's warmth as I removed snow I'd shoveled once already. After three attempts I had enough clearance to make the swing to the main taxiway.
Preflight checks again (it's easier in the bright sunshine), all was as expected. Tied the tail to the car (my stake is under 2' of snow), chocks in, fuel on, four shots of prime, prop through 6 times. She won't move, mags on, way is clear, shoes are dry, throw the prop -- putt-putt-putt... great!
I slid into the seat (no mean fit to put my 6'1" frame into that small door) and held the brakes as I set the RPM to 900 or so. The engine started running smoother in a few minutes. I pulled back to idle, pulled the chocks, untied the tail, and climbed aboard.
Taxiing was a bit of a test as the snow piles on either side were as high and even higher than my wing tips. The surface was rough with new potholes, melting ice, and puddles galore. I taxied over to the fuel point, got 4 gallons and a prop from Jim, and then headed off to runway 27.
This winter had had some of the longer stretches of no flying for me in a few years. That coupled with less than a few hundred hours in tailwheels means I'm learning and re-learning each time I get in. It's almost like visiting your parents after you've moved away -- at first it's all tentative chit-chat, but soon you all adopt the easy familiarity that comes with a close relationship.
Run-up, pre-takeoff checks -- all is good. I announce, hear nothing, check the sky, roll onto 27, and slowly add full throttle.
I lifted the tail a bit briskly and of course didn't compensate for the left turn. I got it back on centerline and let the speed build. Lightweight underpowered tailwheels provide an improved takeoff experience. While nosewheels require pulling back on the yoke and offer a nice view of the sky out the front window, a tailwheel airplane allows you to levitate. You're rolling, and then you're not. The earth is slowly moving down, away from you. You haven't taken off -- the earth merely dropped away at your command.
This sensation is rapidly replaced with the realization that I haven't flown this 70 year old airplane in a while and the powerplant was just sitting in a cold hangar. I bank left, stay clear of the water tower on the hill on left downwind, overfly the new Walmart, and let her climb.
I had limited time and it was far more hazy than I expected, so I stayed near the airport, flying the pattern, climbing, descending, turning, checking carb heat and different power settings. I announced pattern legs until I was above pattern altitude. I asked a Skylane landing at Rostraver if he could hear me -- "Loud and clear" was his reply. Not bad for a 10 year old Sporty's handheld driven by a rechargeable hobby battery fastened to the floor.
I flew for about a half hour, but the weather was already starting to change. The smooth air 1000' AGL was more disturbed air at 2000' AGL.
I tried a power off emergency 180 but wasn't aggressive enough in the slip so tried again and was much better. Finally I decided to land and get back home.
It was doubly important to keep it straight as the runway was an alley, bound by 15' high snow banks on either side. The wingtips wouldn't fare well against that packed ice.
I touched down gently on all three wheels and rolled out to the taxiway. I practiced precision taxiing again and made it back to the hangar.
A few more minutes of airplane shuffle and I had it lined up. I tossed the rope around the tailspring and soon she was pulled back in.
We were reacquainted, but this was more like a brief phone call on a Sunday afternoon. As soon as the weather breaks I promise to come spend more time. I promise...
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