by Dean Zakos
© Copyright 2024. All Rights Reserved!
Published in Midwest Flyer Magazine April/May 2024 Digital Issue
“Enjoy the little things in life because one day you’ll look back and realize they were the big things.” – Kurt Vonnegut
Sometimes, the simple flights are the most memorable.
When you are in the moment, and you don’t have to contend with a tight schedule, weather, busy airspace, or things that break on the airplane, you can merely enjoy your time in the air. You may not realize just how much you valued a single moment or flight until years later. My friend, Rob, experienced one such memorable flight like that in the Summer of 2005.
His wife, Jill, has relatives in Michigan. She drove with their two daughters and the plan was for Rob to fly to Gaylord, Michigan (KGLR) to meet up with them for a weekend at her brother’s cabin. After their time at the cabin, Jill and the girls drove Rob back to the airport. Rob offered a seat for the flight back home to Madison, Wisconsin to their eldest daughter, with a stopover in Escanaba, Michigan (KESC) to rendezvous with Jill and their younger daughter who departed by car for the drive up and over Lake Michigan via the Upper Peninsula. Rob, knowing he would make the destination in much quicker time, decided to turn the flight into an adventure. Rob and his older daughter then flew to Mackinac Island, Michigan (KMCD). After enjoying a nice lunch and sightseeing on the island, they made their late afternoon departure to Escanaba to meet Jill and his younger daughter.
Lancair 235 Greg Sutter Photo
Rob flies a Lancair 235. He is the builder. It was a long and arduous process over 15 years and, because of job responsibilities, involved relocation of the project to three states. The airplane was started in California, continued in Illinois, and finished in Wisconsin.
The Lancair 235, an experimental/amateur-built aircraft design, kit-produced in Redmond, Oregon, features a cantilever low-wing, two seats in a side-by-side configuration, a bubble canopy providing excellent visibility, low-slung, retractable, tricycle landing gear, a single-engine with an electrically controlled constant speed three-blade propeller, and electrically actuated flaps. Rob chose the Lycoming 0-290 (135 HP). The aircraft is made from composite materials, including some graphite parts, and epoxy-impregnated fiberglass cloth for the skin. The wing is a laminar flow airfoil, and because of the construction materials, despite the smaller powerplant, is aerodynamically slick – and speedy. The airplane cruises at 175 knots on about seven gallons per hour at altitude. Rob burns autogas. The aircraft looks fast, even while parked on an FBO ramp. A “little flying Ferrari,” as one aviation magazine review referred to it.
Rob takes great pride in his airplane, as many builders do. Homebuilt aircraft require not only special skills and large amounts of the builder’s time, but also significant and remarkable dedication. Juggling work, home life, and other commitments presents many challenges. “How far along are you on your airplane?” is a common question for homebuilders. “90 percent done and 90 percent to go!” is a frequent and humorous (although mostly true) response. Yet, as Rob related to me, flying in your own airplane, an airplane constructed with your own hands and ingenuity, can be enormously satisfying. The planning, the tedious work, the long hours, the unexpected or, at times, exasperating, difficulties encountered along the way are, in the end, worth the effort – and the wait. Often working alone, probably on weekends or late into evenings, sometimes with friends, or with a spouse who may have been gently pressed into service from time to time, the build process provides many opportunities to think about distant tomorrows, to plan for the future, and to dream.
The direct route from KMCD to KESC necessitates flying over Lake Michigan. Straight line distance across the lake is 103 miles. To mitigate the risk of overwater flight in a single-engine aircraft, Rob chose to follow the southern shoreline of Upper Michigan so that the route was never more than a few miles offshore. His track would take him within gliding distance of Brevort, Epoufette, Naubinway, Point Patterson, Schoolcraft County Airport (KISQ), across Big Bay De Noc, and into Delta County Airport. But, to hear Rob tell it, looking back, he wished the time he spent in the airplane on that flight with his daughter, although extended by his choice of route, could have been much longer.
Not only is Rob a meticulous builder, he is also a meticulous pilot. As many homebuilders do, he researched and created his own checklist for operating the Lancair 235, personalizing it in places to conform with his preferences and routines, honed through years of flying. Five by seven inches, laminated in a clear plastic coating, and connected by a metal ring in the upper left corner of each now well-worn page, the sections of the checklist provide the structure and control so necessary to assist in making every phase of flight a safer one.
The Lancair 235, despite a relatively short 23.6-foot wingspan, is capable of climbing at up to 1,500 feet per minute. Its wing loading (25 psf) places it in the high-performance single category, and it flies a bit hotter and lands faster because of it. The aircraft accelerates quickly on the runway. Rotation speed is 70 knots. On that summer afternoon, while the sun was still just above the horizon, the aircraft quickly took them to the selected cruising altitude. RPM and manifold pressure set. Oil pressure and oil temperature in the green. Cylinder head temps in the normal range. The Lancair 235 is so aerodynamic and tightly cowled that Rob must be careful during warm days on climb out not to exceed cylinder head temps. Sometimes, it is necessary to lower the nose slightly to invite a little more airflow into the small, elongated cooling inlets behind the prop. Initial heading was 300 degrees, and the directional gyro agreed with the magnetic compass.
The sun was just above the top of the cowling, but low enough on the horizon that, with scattered cumulus along the route, its light was no longer harsh or glaring; instead, as filtered through the clouds, the rays became soft and translucent. Its reflection formed an indistinct, almost ghostly, inverted triangle on the water in front of the aircraft, appearing to provide a faintly lighted path to follow.
Below them, Lake Michigan was gorgeous, a fading green-blue expanse. The tips of the waves sparkled and danced in the late daylight, reflecting angled bits of the sun’s light as it settled and began to disappear in the distance. “If I had a camera,” Rob thought, “this would be a spectacular picture!”
Cruise checklist complete, autopilot engaged, one of the few remaining tasks was to monitor fuel flow. Rob’s Lancair 235 uses an 11-gallon header tank, located behind the instrument panel. The wing tanks, via fuel transfer pumps, feed the header tank, and the header tank, via gravity, feeds the engine. Rob is attentive to ensure that there is always a specified minimum of fuel in the header tank. Having flown with Rob in his Lancair 235, I have watched how carefully he periodically monitors the fuel gauges and transfers fuel.
As the journey progressed, the sky and clouds continued to transform. The brilliant blues and stark whites of the afternoon sky slowly evolved into the azures, purples, pinks, and splashes of yellow, gold, and orange above the darker horizon, the last light of a breathtaking summer sunset. Because of the large plexiglass canopy, the view was unobstructed by any window, door, canopy frames, or sun visors.
As pilots, we tend to allow our flights to run together over time, often losing to long-term memory many of the large, and most of the small, details of each flight, unless we take the time to find a page in our logbooks that may contain a date, a time, a sketchy note, or a few scant details, to prompt some recollection. Rob described to me that he was conscious while sitting in the airplane on that sunset flight of how, and as he had hoped while working on the build years before, it was a dream fulfilled for him. He was flying an airplane he owned, that he had worked hard to create, and was now sharing the experience of an unforgettable setting sun seen from the air with his daughter. He thought back to those many days of slowly, tediously, joining the foam and composite pieces together, sanding and re-sanding, and re-sanding again the fiberglass skin, optimizing the engine, perfecting the landing gear and brakes, balancing the control surfaces, designing, wiring, and installing the instrument panel, and permitting himself to think while he labored that, some day, he would be where he now found himself.
I remember reading about a study conducted a few years ago regarding childhood memories. The best and most memorable events were not what was expected, such as receiving expensive toys or going on elaborate family vacations. Instead, they were more often the simple things in life. Playing board games, making your toddler laugh uncontrollably, walking around the block to the corner store while holding your son’s or daughter’s hand, or sharing a favorite song or activity before bedtime. When my own son and daughter were young, my work often kept me out later than their bedtimes, and so I tried to catch up on the weekends. One of our favorite routines was going for Saturday morning donuts at the local bakery, O&H in Racine, Wisconsin. Walking through the entrance doors, we immediately sensed the warmth within, enjoyed jostling good-naturedly with the huddles of people making their selections or patiently waiting in line, smelling the wonderful aroma of just-made donuts, breads, and pastries and, perhaps, accepting the offer of a free cookie for a little one by the bakery staff – the memories come rushing back. We did not realize at the time that we were making great memories. Flying is like that.
From the moment of a pilot’s first flight, flying memories begin. I am not implying flying necessarily produces all of the best memories in our lives, but our time in the air does produce some treasured moments. A first solo; flying on a first date with a girlfriend or boyfriend who later became your spouse and steady co-pilot; introducing your children to flying when, sitting in the backseat, a booster or several cushions were required to even allow a glimpse out of a window; your father pointing out landmarks on the ground as you sat next to him on a cross-country flight; a Young Eagle flight where you were able to experience again, through a small boy’s or girl’s eyes, the marvel and excitement of leaving the ground behind; a summer trip to Oshkosh; an Angel Flight or Animal Rescue Flight, where your skills, your experience, and your airplane, made a difference for others.
The sun was now almost below the horizon. The last of the light it offered for the day was quickly fading. 20 miles out, Rob tuned in the AWOS on 121.425. A few clouds, winds light and variable, visibility more than 10 miles. Rob went through his descent checklist – mixture, throttle, prop, fuel, AWOS, altimeter set, engine instruments in the green, compass and gyro.
Delta County has two paved runways, 10-28, 6498 by 150 feet, and 01-19, 5016 by 100 feet. Coming in from the east, Rob set up to enter the traffic pattern for a midfield left downwind to Runway 10. One other aircraft in the pattern for 10 ahead of him.
Prelanding checklist – landing light on, autopilot off, Hooker harnesses locked and secure, prop and mixture controls full forward, reduce throttle, boost pump on, check sufficient fuel in the header tank, approach flaps set – complete. Downwind leg at 100 knots. Rob generally delays until the base turn to lower the landing gear. Airspeed slowing. Flaps bring the speed down slightly in the Lancair 235, but extending the gear creates the greatest drag and airspeed reduction.
On downwind, as he looked to his left at his intended landing spot on the runway, he took one last, satisfying gaze at the horizon in front of him. The sun had set, a soft, arched glow the only remnant of the pallet of colors he and his daughter had so enjoyed on the flight. On the base leg, Rob reached in front of him to the center panel and moved the gear switch. The amber gear-in-transit light illuminated, then the hydraulically actuated gear came down, accompanied by a quiet, whirring sound and three muted, but solid, thumps. The three gear-down lights glowed a pleasing green. Gear down and locked.
On final, full flaps. Rob lands the Lancair 235 between 75 and 80 knots, to provide for best aileron authority and control when low in the landing flair. The Lancair 235 has small tires, short landing gear struts, and little ground clearance for the propeller. Landings are smooth, but firm. You always know when you have touched down on the runway.
We are lucky to be able to fly. Pilots are only a small fraction of a small number of smart, adventurous, and capable individuals, an insignificant demographic and, unfortunately, a diminishing minority of the total population. We have a unique opportunity to create great memories every time we fly, both for ourselves and for others. We need only live in the moment, recognize our good fortune, and appreciate it as it occurs.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Dean Zakos (Private Pilot ASEL, Instrument) of Madison, Wisconsin, is the author of “Laughing with the Wind, Practical Advice and Personal Stories from a General Aviation Pilot.” Mr. Zakos has also written numerous short stories and flying articles for Midwest Flyer Magazine and other aviation publications.
DISCLAIMER: Mr. Zakos’ articles involve creative writing, and therefore the information presented may be fictional in nature, and should not be used for flight, or misconstrued as instructional material. Readers are urged to always consult with their personal flight instructor and others about anything discussed herein.
