First Nav Complete!
Well, after many weeks of reading, thinking, remembering, testing and worrying, the day had come: the first time I'd head out beyond the local area and see what's over the hills.
Planning for this trip had begun several days ago. Manny gave me the outline of the route, and then it was my job to fill in all of the other pieces of information. Everything from the planned tracks, to cruise altitudes, to circuit pattern entry procedures at each new place. There was to be no short-cuts on this trip!
I began the day by visiting the aviation weather internet site and printing out the relevant forecasts for the area. Once I'd decoded the various pieces of weather technical-speak, it was time to plug the wind effects into the "computer" (not a computer in the sense we know these days, it's more of a circular slide-rule), and check the fuel requirements.
With that all in place, it was time to jump in and blast off. As we were taxiing to the runway, we observed the departing aircraft with a very shallow climb profile. That was our first clue that it was going to be a difficult day. We weren't too heavy as we only put enough fuel for the trip plus reserves, so I thought we shouldn't be too bad. I was wrong.
Manny made me do the take off, and then he would demonstrate how to do an overhead departure. As I rolled down the runway, the J-160 took a long time to decide to fly. We had one of the most shallow climbs out of the airport I had ever experienced. Adding to all that, there were quite a few bumps and lumps around in the air. I actually felt a tiny bit ill (possibly from the bumps, but also I was a bit anxious about flying to a new and unknown area), but thankfully that passed fairly quickly when we settled into a cruise climb for our selected altitude.
It was quite confronting, for as I would go along (not making any large adjustments to the controls), one minute we'd be doing 450 feet per minute up. Then, seconds later, we'd be doing 500 feet per minute DOWN! I'd automatically raise the nose to combat the sink, but that would have an instant effect on the airspeed. Manny kept reminding me: "We have to maintain at least 95 knots to make good our planned times". But then added, "As long as we're above our safe altitude, let the aircraft go up and down a little. It's the best we can do on a day like today." I was a little uneasy with that at first, but soon accepted it and aside from monitoring it, didn't worry about it too much more. Normally, in a situation with plenty of sink, one could just push the throttle and up the revs, right? Yep, but in this situation, not quite...
After (safely and on time) arriving at Maryborough, Manny wanted to do two circuits. He would fly the first one, and then I would fly the next and depart to Bendigo. They went off without a hitch, but once we departed, that's when the balancing act really got interesting. We departed the circuit, and climbed really slowly out of Maryborough bound for Bendigo. Manny then pointed out that the oil temperature was nudging the red on the dial. Oh no, another thing to balance. We put the aircraft in a cruise climb (which today was about 50 feet per minute!) to try to get as much cooling air as possible. This helped a tiny bit, but not enough. We were still close to boiling the oil if we were not careful.
I could see Bendigo looming up on our left. Either the wind had changed slightly, or I hadn't held the heading accurately enough through all the craziness. Manny said that that's ok, as we were close enough to accurately identify it as Bendigo we could just turn and head towards it. Phew. (Someone should paint the town names in big letters somewhere, it would make things sooooo much easier! He he!)
This time, I was to fly the entire circuit, including entry, touch and go, and then departure. I entered the circuit without too much fuss. But then the real fun was waiting for me on final. It was a little bumpy on base, but once I turned to line up with the runway it was like all hell broke loose. I was really working the ailerons side to side and booting the rudder to keep the wings level and aligned with the runway. As I reached the last line of trees there must have been some strong windshear, because I was banking at least twenty or thirty degrees each side just to account for the wind gusts!
I reached the piano keys at the end of the runway and thought, "If the approach was this difficult and I had to work so hard to just get to here, then I'm not game to see what it has in store for me near the ground!" With that, I selected full power, transitioned to a climb attitude and slowly raised the flaps. Manny, with an imaginary pencil on his clipboard made a big imaginary tick. I saw this out of the corner of my eye and looked over to see what all the movement was about. "At least now, I know when I send you on your solo navs you won't bend my plane!" Well that's a relief. Manny then wanted a go at it himself - it was just as difficult, but he managed a soft landing. I called him a show off, and took the controls to head for home.
This was the longest leg today, and one which I would be flying all myself. The oil issue was still present, and we only just got over a ridge South-East of the town - when I say only just, I mean just with our minimum safe clearing altitude of the obstacle plus at least five hundred feet. I settled in to the usual routine of checking heading, clock, temps and pressures, map, radio, etc. Just as I think that I've got it all under control, we see small rain clouds approach. They were quite small, and didn't look to nasty. Manny pointed out that from here it looks like rain, but it could be hail. At close to 200 km/h, that's bad.
So, I turned right a little and skirted around them just with a few spots of rain on the windscreen. Once we passed the squall line, the air dropped in temperature noticeably. Even the engine oil felt it because in no time at all it was back comfortably in the green. The little diversion didn't have too much of an effect on our time or heading because we got back to Ballarat exactly on schedule (within about thirty seconds or so!).
I set the Jabiru up for landing and touched down gently on runway 18. It seems behind the squall line the winds were more of a Southerly nature, whereas most of the day we were fighting a fickle Northerly. Safely back at the hangar I shut down the aircraft and we went inside for the debrief. Manny liked how I stuck to my heading. Apparently some guys get distracted with other stuff in the cockpit and let it wander. I have to work on a few things for next time: even more "chair flying" of the route the night before, a better timing system (stopwatch on my mobile phone isn't quite convenient, I found out!), and better pre-planning of when/where to change radio frequencies. Apart from those little things, he said he was quite happy with my first nav in very trying conditions.
Next on the agenda is a nav to a tiny little town or grass airstrip. I will really have to trust my watch and compass then! Can't wait!
Well, after many weeks of reading, thinking, remembering, testing and worrying, the day had come: the first time I'd head out beyond the local area and see what's over the hills.
Planning for this trip had begun several days ago. Manny gave me the outline of the route, and then it was my job to fill in all of the other pieces of information. Everything from the planned tracks, to cruise altitudes, to circuit pattern entry procedures at each new place. There was to be no short-cuts on this trip!
I began the day by visiting the aviation weather internet site and printing out the relevant forecasts for the area. Once I'd decoded the various pieces of weather technical-speak, it was time to plug the wind effects into the "computer" (not a computer in the sense we know these days, it's more of a circular slide-rule), and check the fuel requirements.
With that all in place, it was time to jump in and blast off. As we were taxiing to the runway, we observed the departing aircraft with a very shallow climb profile. That was our first clue that it was going to be a difficult day. We weren't too heavy as we only put enough fuel for the trip plus reserves, so I thought we shouldn't be too bad. I was wrong.
Manny made me do the take off, and then he would demonstrate how to do an overhead departure. As I rolled down the runway, the J-160 took a long time to decide to fly. We had one of the most shallow climbs out of the airport I had ever experienced. Adding to all that, there were quite a few bumps and lumps around in the air. I actually felt a tiny bit ill (possibly from the bumps, but also I was a bit anxious about flying to a new and unknown area), but thankfully that passed fairly quickly when we settled into a cruise climb for our selected altitude.
It was quite confronting, for as I would go along (not making any large adjustments to the controls), one minute we'd be doing 450 feet per minute up. Then, seconds later, we'd be doing 500 feet per minute DOWN! I'd automatically raise the nose to combat the sink, but that would have an instant effect on the airspeed. Manny kept reminding me: "We have to maintain at least 95 knots to make good our planned times". But then added, "As long as we're above our safe altitude, let the aircraft go up and down a little. It's the best we can do on a day like today." I was a little uneasy with that at first, but soon accepted it and aside from monitoring it, didn't worry about it too much more. Normally, in a situation with plenty of sink, one could just push the throttle and up the revs, right? Yep, but in this situation, not quite...
After (safely and on time) arriving at Maryborough, Manny wanted to do two circuits. He would fly the first one, and then I would fly the next and depart to Bendigo. They went off without a hitch, but once we departed, that's when the balancing act really got interesting. We departed the circuit, and climbed really slowly out of Maryborough bound for Bendigo. Manny then pointed out that the oil temperature was nudging the red on the dial. Oh no, another thing to balance. We put the aircraft in a cruise climb (which today was about 50 feet per minute!) to try to get as much cooling air as possible. This helped a tiny bit, but not enough. We were still close to boiling the oil if we were not careful.
I could see Bendigo looming up on our left. Either the wind had changed slightly, or I hadn't held the heading accurately enough through all the craziness. Manny said that that's ok, as we were close enough to accurately identify it as Bendigo we could just turn and head towards it. Phew. (Someone should paint the town names in big letters somewhere, it would make things sooooo much easier! He he!)
This time, I was to fly the entire circuit, including entry, touch and go, and then departure. I entered the circuit without too much fuss. But then the real fun was waiting for me on final. It was a little bumpy on base, but once I turned to line up with the runway it was like all hell broke loose. I was really working the ailerons side to side and booting the rudder to keep the wings level and aligned with the runway. As I reached the last line of trees there must have been some strong windshear, because I was banking at least twenty or thirty degrees each side just to account for the wind gusts!
I reached the piano keys at the end of the runway and thought, "If the approach was this difficult and I had to work so hard to just get to here, then I'm not game to see what it has in store for me near the ground!" With that, I selected full power, transitioned to a climb attitude and slowly raised the flaps. Manny, with an imaginary pencil on his clipboard made a big imaginary tick. I saw this out of the corner of my eye and looked over to see what all the movement was about. "At least now, I know when I send you on your solo navs you won't bend my plane!" Well that's a relief. Manny then wanted a go at it himself - it was just as difficult, but he managed a soft landing. I called him a show off, and took the controls to head for home.
This was the longest leg today, and one which I would be flying all myself. The oil issue was still present, and we only just got over a ridge South-East of the town - when I say only just, I mean just with our minimum safe clearing altitude of the obstacle plus at least five hundred feet. I settled in to the usual routine of checking heading, clock, temps and pressures, map, radio, etc. Just as I think that I've got it all under control, we see small rain clouds approach. They were quite small, and didn't look to nasty. Manny pointed out that from here it looks like rain, but it could be hail. At close to 200 km/h, that's bad.
So, I turned right a little and skirted around them just with a few spots of rain on the windscreen. Once we passed the squall line, the air dropped in temperature noticeably. Even the engine oil felt it because in no time at all it was back comfortably in the green. The little diversion didn't have too much of an effect on our time or heading because we got back to Ballarat exactly on schedule (within about thirty seconds or so!).
I set the Jabiru up for landing and touched down gently on runway 18. It seems behind the squall line the winds were more of a Southerly nature, whereas most of the day we were fighting a fickle Northerly. Safely back at the hangar I shut down the aircraft and we went inside for the debrief. Manny liked how I stuck to my heading. Apparently some guys get distracted with other stuff in the cockpit and let it wander. I have to work on a few things for next time: even more "chair flying" of the route the night before, a better timing system (stopwatch on my mobile phone isn't quite convenient, I found out!), and better pre-planning of when/where to change radio frequencies. Apart from those little things, he said he was quite happy with my first nav in very trying conditions.
Next on the agenda is a nav to a tiny little town or grass airstrip. I will really have to trust my watch and compass then! Can't wait!
