Two stories reported near April 1 suggested a cruel prank. Just before 4/1 came news that the FY 2025 budget proposed to raise the per-gallon tax on business jet fuel nearly 400%, to $1.06 per gallon.

As a reminder, aviation fuel taxes are how the government funds the Airport and Airway Trust Fund that pays for airport improvements and some FAA operations such as air traffic control.

Shortly after 4/1, the New York Times revealed America’s commercial space launch operators contribute nothing to the trust fund even though each of the hundreds of rockets they have launched over the years require substantial FAA and ATC involvement.

Rocket launchers like SpaceX are for-profit companies just like the airlines, and they use the national airspace system just like each of the aviation communities that comprise general aviation—so why do they get a free ride?

Perhaps somewhere in the FY25 budget proposal that introduces the five-year fuel tax increase on bizjets will be some sort of equitable tax on rocket launches. And let’s hope that there’s another increase on the taxes paid by commercial airlines, who have an aviation tax deal second only to the rocket launchers.

As the aviation fuel taxes stand now, for all aspects of general aviation, piston flyers pay 0.193 cents per gallon of avgas and kerosene burners pay 0.218 cents for jet fuel. On March 2012, the government added a 14.1 cent per gallon surcharge for fuel burned by aircraft in fractional ownership programs, the majority of which are bizjets.

Regardless of fuel type, commercial aviation operators pay just 0.043 cents per gallon to the Airport and Airway Trust Fund. They also pay a ticket tax, but they certainly build this 7.5% fee into the price passengers pay ride their tubular cattle cars.

And I’m sure they do the same for the per passenger segment tax, defined as the flight between a takeoff and its next landing. Introduced on New Year’s Day 2002, it is indexed with the Consumer Price Index and is $5 in 2024.

By the way, the airline ticket tax does not include all off the fees the airlines so love for baggage, rebooking, legroom, and what have you. For the commercial operator, these fees are pure profit.

So here we are. The rocket launchers are getting free use of an understaffed, overworked air traffic control workforce that must rework and manage the traffic so their missiles can safely puncture the national airspace. And the airlines, which have been reporting substantial profits can add to their bottom lines with untaxed fees passengers pay when the rocket launchers disrupt their travels. And we wonder why our aviation infrastructure is failing us. – Scott Spangler, Editor

One week from today, on Monday April 8, as the moon’s shadow slides across the eastern third of the United States, the Great North American Eclipse will darken the skies over 458 US airports that are within 50 miles of the eclipse’s centerline track. (For of list of these aerodromes, see the FAA’s Domestic Notice on how the eclipse will affect aviation operations.)

So, here’s my question: Can pilots flying in the shadow, perhaps following the track, log their time in the darkness at night flight time?

With the shadow’s afternoon transit of 13 states, no, clearly seems to be the answer.

FAR § 1.1, Definitions, says “Night means the time between the end of evening civil twilight and the beginning of morning civil twilight, as published in the Air Almanac, converted to local time.” FAR § 61.57 Recent flight experience: Pilot in command, in section (b) (1), Night Takeoff and Landing Experience: “Except as provided in paragraph (e) of this section, no person may act as pilot in command of an aircraft carrying passengers during the period beginning 1 hour after sunset and ending 1 hour before sunrise, unless within the preceding 90 days that person has made at least three takeoffs and three landings to a full stop during the period beginning 1 hour after sunset and ending 1 hour before sunrise.”

Total eclipses are nowhere mentioned in subsection (e) Exceptions.

The inability to log shadow flight time as “night” doesn’t mean things cannot get interesting. For many, the Great North American Eclipse will be a lifetime experience, so pilots will be flocking to the 458 airports in the total eclipse cone of darkness. The FAA Domestic Notice says pilots flying IFR should be prepared for holds, reroutes and EDCTs (Expect Departure Clearence Times) and “VFR departures may also expect delays for airborne pickup of IFR clearance within 50 NM either side of the path of the eclipse.”

Expect FBO ramp congestion, so pilots should coordinate their flights with their eclipse destinations well before the moon slides between the sun and Earth. Obviously, “There may be a higher traffic volume than normal anticipated at airports along the path of the eclipse. Traffic should anticipate delays during peak traffic periods. Parking may be limited – particularly at the smaller, uncontrolled airports. Practice approaches, touch-and-goes, flight following services and pilot training operations at airports in the path of the eclipse may be extremely limited and possibly prohibited during this time period. Airmen should check NOTAMs carefully for special procedures/restrictions that may be in place at affected airports.”

All of this assumes that Mother Nature cooperates and does not roll out a thick carpet of clouds between the Earth and the moon. For those contemplating an IFR flight through the carpet to view the eclipse on top, revisit the Domestic Notice’s warning of IFR delays. And regardless of where one is to witness the eclipse, practice safe viewing, you don’t want the eclipse to be one of the last things you see clearly.

If Mother Nature cooperates, and the expected aerial traffic shows up, given the resulting delays, you still might get to log some night time on your way home. But please make sure you are night current—and proficient. – Scott Spangler, Editor

A long voicemail from my nephew is not what I expected after I ignored a call from an unknown number. Recently married, he was on his honeymoon in Cartegena, Colombia, and from their hotel they could see the airport. This led to what he described as an “argument” about whether it was easier to control a prop plane like a crop duster or an airliner like a Boeing 737. His wife asked, “which is more complicated to fly?”

In a series of back-and-forth voicemails and texts we defined “harder” and “complicated” as a pilot’s fundamental stick-and-rudder inputs needed for a safe flight. It took some time to explain why airline pilots have an easier time flying than those flying prop planes like ag aircraft.

Once he grasped the contribution made by an airliner’s flight management system and autopilot, and how it pretty much takes the airplane from Point A to Point B, he accepted the idea that airline pilots are busiest making the takeoff, landing, and taxiing to and from the gate. (And based on my simulator flights in a Boeing 737, 777, and Lockheed Tristar, steering an airliner around an airport with that twitchy tiller is the stuff of nightmares.)

Making the airliner’s flight even easier, I briefly explained the structured environment in which it flies. It is a routine and regimented operation defined by federal regulations, air traffic control, and the airline’s standard operating procedures that are supported by an expanded team that includes dispatchers and other experts in subjects such as meteorology and air traffic management. And the airline pilot is the member of a two-pilot team, each of whom have clearly defined duties and responsibilities.

A prop plane pilot, I explained, more often than not is the sole manipulator of the controls and, therefore, responsible for every aspect of conducting a flight safely. More often than not, prop pilots are not flying on an instrument flight plan, required for entry in the more structured air traffic-controlled highway in the sky system. There are regulations, like hemispheric cruising altitudes, that are supposed to keep these pilots from running into each other, but ultimately, they are individually ultimately responsible for seeing and avoiding each other.

The stick-and-rudder challenges ag pilots face are even more daunting because they so often fly so very close to the ground. Often their altitude, sometimes a single digit above the crop top, depends on the chemical they spreading. And just to make their flights more challenging, adjusting for whatever the wind is doing, they must plan each pass to ensure no plant goes unsprayed while avoiding obstacles such as trees, powerlines, wind turbines, and cell phone towers.

As our text conversation reached its conclusion, it seems that my nephew’s wife was arguing on behalf of the prop pilots, because he reported her “jumping around in victory.” –Scott Spangler, Editor

Given the state of the world, GPS spoofing has been in the news with unsettling frequency. Transmitting a counterfeit GPS signal to override the real deal serves the real purpose of guiding aerial, maritime, or terrestrial vehicles where someone other than the vehicles master wants to go. Because the mind works in mysterious ways, reading the spoofing articles led me to wonder, does the FAA still issue the Flight Navigator Certificate, and do people still pursue them?

According to the US Civil Airmen Statistics, the FAA is still issuing flight navigator certificates, but in rapidly decreasing numbers. It certificated 126 navigators in 2013, 102 in 2015, 64 in 2017, 40 in 2019, 30 in 2021, and 29 in 2022. The 2023 numbers aren’t out yet, but if you hold a navigator’s certificate, I would love to talk with you. If you’re interested, you can email me through my byline link at the end of this post.

Next stop, 14 CFR 63, Subpart C—Flight Navigators. The certification requirements are in the ATP realm, at least 21 years old, read, write, speak, and understand English, hold at least a second class medical, and comply with the knowledge requirements in § 63.53, the experience requirements in § 63.55, skill requirements in § 63.57. As expected, there’s a written test and a practical test, which is itemized in Appendix A.

(Good luck trying to find, let alone rent an airplane for the flight test: “An applicant will provide an aircraft in which celestial observations can be taken in all directions. Minimum equipment shall include a table for plotting, a drift meter or absolute altimeter, an instrument for taking visual bearings, and a radio direction finder.”)

The knowledge requirements start with flight navigation, flight planning, cruise control, and practical meteorology, including analysis of weather maps, weather reports, and weather forecasts; and weather sequence abbreviations, symbols, and nomenclature. Then there’s the types of air navigation facilities and procedures in general use and how to calibrate and use air navigation instruments.

Applicants must be a graduate of an FAA-approved flight navigator course or document “(1) Satisfactory determination of his position in flight at least 25 times by night by celestial observations and at least 25 times by day by celestial observations in conjunction with other aids; and (2) At least 200 hours of satisfactory flight navigation including celestial and radio navigation and dead reckoning.” (Google did not reveal any approved civilian navigator courses. There is, however, FAA-H-8083-18 Flight Navigator Handbook. I couldn’t find it on the FAA website, but the Abbott Aerospace UKK Techniccal Library has it for download. )

Scrolling through the list of exam areas in Appendix A was revealing…a few examples:

Identify without a star identifier, at least six navigational stars and all planets available for navigation at the time of the examination and explain the method of identification.

Take and plot one 3-star fix and 3 LOP’s [Line of Position] of the sun. Plotted fix or an average of LOP’s must fall within 5 miles of the actual position of the observer.

Demonstrate or explain the compensation and swinging of a liquid-type magnetic compass.

Demonstrate or explain a method of aligning one type of drift meter.

Demonstrate or explain a method of aligning an astro-compass or periscopic sextant.

Prepare a cruise control (howgozit) chart from the operator’s data.

Determine ground speed and wind by the timing method with a drift meter. When a drift meter is not part of the aircraft’s equipment, an oral examination on the procedure and a problem shall be completed.

There’s way more. Technology like GPS now provides most of this information, but that reconnects me to the challenge presented by spoofing. How do pilots gather the information to safely reach their destinations? Scott Spangler—Editor

When it was revealed in a BBC interview, The Fighter Pilots Hunting Houthi Drones Over the Red Sea, that Marine Captain Earl Ehrhart, an AV-8B Harrier pilot aboard the USS Bataan, had downed seven drones, subsequent stories on this action hailed him as America’s newest ace, the first since the last helo left Saigon in April 1975.

“The Houthis were launching a lot of suicide attack drones,” says Ehrhart, and to be effective against this rebel group, the marines needed to adapt, the BBC story reports. “’We took a Harrier jet and modified it for air defence,’ Ehrhart tells me. ‘We loaded it up with missiles and that way were able to respond to their drone attacks.’” In the next sentence, the experienced fighter pilot said he intercepted seven Houthi drones.

Nowhere in the BBC article is the word ace. It seems that aviation editor and authors applied this appellation without fully contemplating the necessary attributes of becoming an ace beyond five victories. For some concise insight, I turned to the American Fighter Aces Association, founded in 1960 to recognize the over 1,450 combat pilots from World War I to the present that achieved the status of American Fighter Ace by destroying five or more hostile aircraft in air-to-air combat.

Given their intent and mission, the Houthi drones are, without a doubt “hostile aircraft.” And Capt. Ehrhart and all the other AV-8B and F-18 pilots have certainly destroyed these pilotless drones. But the key ingredient missing in earning the title of ace is, as the American Fighter Aces Association clearly states, is destroying these “hostile aircraft in air-to-air combat.”

Downing a drone with a missile does not meet the definition or spirit of aerial combat, “a fight between individuals or groups.” Yes, the Houthis are a group, but all they are doing is programming their drones to hit terrestrial targets and ships, not defend themselves against a Harrier or Super Hornet. When artificial intelligence matures and undertakes a drone’s defensive capabilities, destroying it in air-to-air combat will count toward the title of ace. And if AI destroys its opponent, it will be one tally closer to the title.

Until that time, lets appreciate and recognize our aviators for the multitude of risks they face on every sortie but reserve the accolade of ace for those who achieve it in a competitive arena. –Scott Spangler, Editor

It’s about trust

I remember riding our crew bus with a bunch of other pilots, and flight attendants in the spring of 1991 not long after our employer Midway Airlines had filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. The old red and white school bus ran the flight crews from the parking lot on Midway Airport’s north side parking lot along 55^th Street to the terminal so we could connect with our aircraft. Since pilots have all the solutions to every problem on Earth (just ask one) a bunch of us were complaining about the current state of the airline and our future. Being a big mouth – yes, even then – I wondered why Dave Hinson, our CEO was still running the place. “If Hinson was in charge when we entered bankruptcy, why should we expect he’ll be able to get us out?” After a few nods, the back of the bus was quiet for a few minutes before we moved on to complaining about the crew meals.

As it turned out, my worries about what the big guy at the airline’s helm would be able to accomplish continued as Midway Airline continued its decline. For a few weeks though, we thought there was a silver lining to the dark cloud we all found ourselves beneath when word came that Midway was about to be purchased by Northwest Airlines (Northwest was later absorbed by Delta). We were overjoyed that somehow the management team had managed to pull a save out from the throws of Chapter 11. Our celebrations were short-lived, however, when on November 12, 1991, Northwest informed Dave Hinson they were pulling out of the negotiations. The original Midway Airline ceased operation the next day on November 13, 1991.

After Midway

Many of those memories have come flooding back to me over the past few weeks as the latest crisis erupted at Boeing, a company also once headquartered in Chicago. The current mess began when a door plug ripped a gaping hole in the fuselage of an Alaska Airlines 737 Max 9 on January 5^th. Luckily no one was killed although many cabin items not tied down were sucked out of that fuselage hole when the cabin depressurized. It all could have been much worse. The door plug was eventually located in the backyard of a local high school science teacher. I think his name was Bob.

And what’s the connection between my former life at Midway and Boeing’s current jam? A bunch of Midway employees didn’t think Dave Hinson and the airline’s board of directors back then could save the ailing carrier. And as for Boeing? A recent story in Fortune magazine said, “Business pundits are watching closely to see whether CEO Dave Calhoun can lead Boeing through the aftermath of its latest crisis or if he’ll be replaced. But Boeing’s board also deserves scrutiny …” Read the rest of this entry »

As a word merchant and an aviator, words are important. They are the foundation of communication, and in many instances they can be the difference between life and death. “Hold Short” is but one example. Equally important is our semantic understanding of the aviation lexicon, what each of the words mean.

Take “accident,” for example. Millions of words have been written and spoken about this word, its outcomes, its trends, and its persistent place in aviation. But have you ever given thought to what this word means? Here is what the 11^th edition of Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary has to say:

Accident—noun

1a: an unforeseen and unplanned event or circumstance

b: lack of intention or necessity : CHANCE

2a: an unfortunate event resulting especially from carelessness or ignorance

As this relates to aviation, accidents are unfortunate and, for the most part, unplanned. Suicidal best describes pilots who take off intending to return to earth unsafely. Pilots who consider aviation’s unfortunate outcomes unforeseen may best be described by the second aspect of the definition: careless and ignorant.

Pilots have been choosing from the same menu of fatal outcomes for more than a century now, so how can anyone categorize them as “unforeseen?” No one is ever immune from the possibility of any of them on any flight. Regardless of our intentions we each are ultimately responsible for the consequences of our decisions.

Every student pilot learns, to some degree or another, about Five Hazardous Attitudes, their symptoms, and the consequential umbrella that covers them all:

Anti-authority: Those who do not like anyone telling them what to do.

Impulsivity: Those who feel the need to do something, anything, immediately.

Invulnerability: Those who believe that accidents happen to others.

Macho: Those who are trying to prove that they are better than anyone else. “Watch this!

Resignation: Those who do not see themselves making a difference.

Knowing about these attitudes is good, but it is just a halfway effort without balancing them with some beneficial attitudes pilots should relentlessly strive to embody. You can compile your list, but here’s one to get you started:

Circumspect—adjective

: careful to consider all circumstances and possible consequences : PRUDENT

Employing all that this word embodies to every aspect of aviation before acting can only improve safety. But just as we each are responsible for the consequences of decisions whether they be good or bad, we humans are not infallible, so unwanted outcomes will continue to occur with unwanted regularity. But we should stop referring to them as “accidents.” The military has a better word and definition for it:

Mishap—noun

: any unplanned, unintended event or series of events that results in death, injury, illness, or property damage.

But whatever word you use to describe it, remember to be circumspect. –Scott Spangler, Editor

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Beyond worrying about the heating bill and bundling up for the sub-zero trek to the mail box, reports about how much of America has been dealing with the polar waterfall has stimulated an unexpected question: Given the reality that cold weather quickly sucks the electron life out of batteries, will electric aircraft face lapse-rate challenges?

While watching a TV news report about desperate owners trying to revive their cold-sucked dead Teslas in Chicagoland, what immediately popped into my head was the reality that the ambient temperature in a standard atmosphere surrenders (lapses) approximately 3.5 °F or 2 °C per thousand feet up to 36,000 feet, which is approximately –65 °F or –55 °C. Above this point, the temperature is considered constant up to 80,000 feet.

That’s a lot higher than today’s prototype electric flyers now aviate, but I’m looking forward to their airline goals. But the temperatures at the airline’s cruising flight levels are a lot colder than it has been for the past week or so in much of the United States, roughly double our weeklong Wisconsin windchill. (This begs another question: Do batteries suffer from windchill, or is that just reserved for mammals? Google says it doesn’t.)

Installing battery warmers on these aircraft seems to be a logical solution, but they, too, would be electric, which would increase the draw on the storage system’s power reserves. And then there would be the added weight, the primary foe of power efficient flight. Battery temperature not only affects output, it has a negative effect on recharging the battery.

Electric vehicles, it turns out, have two batteries, one high-voltage and the other low, like the 12-volt battery that fires up an internal combustion powerplant. Apparently, like a vehicle that runs on dead dinosaurs, an electric vehicle with a cold-sucked 12 volt needs a jump to recharge its high-voltage counterpart more efficiently. Without the proper preparation, it seems, a recharge that takes an hour in milder temps can take four or five times longer when it’s cold. Not that airline turn-around crews need another time-suck challenge.

The Cold Weather Best Practices in the Tesla Model 3 Owner’s Manual was eye opening. Just as ice and snow on an airframe is detrimental to flight, on an electric car, its “moving parts, such as the door handles, windows, mirrors, and wipers can freeze in place.” This includes the charging port. “In extremely cold weather or icy conditions, it is possible that your charge port latch may freeze in place. Some vehicles are equipped with a charge port inlet heater that turns on when you turn on the rear defrost in cold weather conditions. You can also thaw ice on the charge port latch by enabling Defrost Car on the mobile app.”

This assumes the vehicle still has some battery power left, not to mention the phone needed to run all the vehicle’s apps. I’m sure the electrical aviation engineers are working on all these challenges, and all the others I’m unaware of. I wish them well. The sun has warmed the outside temperature to a positive single digit, and the mail truck just delivered, so it’s time to bundle up. –Scott Spangler, Editor

By Rob Mark

An early scene in An Officer and a Gentleman, the 1982 movie about U.S. Navy recruits slogging their way through officer candidate school, has granite-tough Marine Gunnery Sgt. Foley (actor Lou Gossett Jr.) confronting candidate Zack Mayo (actor Richard Gere) nose to nose.

“Now why would a slick little hustler like you sign up for the Navy?” asks Foley.

Mayo’s response grabbed me. “Because I want to fly jets, sir!”

I’ve been flying jets for years as a corporate pilot, but not real jets to some … like fighter jets. When opportunity knocked with an offer to fly an Aero Vodochody L–39 Albatros (one “s” in the Czech spelling)—a single-engine bird still used as a basic trainer for some nation’s fighter pilots—I jumped at the chance. And I seldom thought much about Top Gun either (“Do some of that pilot stuff, Maverick”) before my first day of training at Gauntlet Warbirds, based at Aurora Municipal Airport (KARR) west of Chicago. In a nice-job-if-you-can-get-it situation, Greg Morris serves as Gauntlet’s owner and chief pilot (see “Pilots: Greg Morris,” December 2011 AOPA Pilot).

The panel on the L–39 is a conglomeration of normal gauges, except some, are labeled in English, and others still in Cyrillic.

My goal in these Gauntlet jet-training sessions? Cram enough L–39 knowledge and skill into my brain to pass a type-rating checkride. With very little onboard deice equipment, the L–39 is, however, a VFR-only bird. In a non-U.S.-certified Experimental aircraft like the L–39, the end result is called an Experimental Aircraft Authorization. Morris explained that the Experimental moniker also prevents Gauntlet from charging for rides. A pilot with any kind of certificate can begin training right away in the familiarization course where dual instruction is $2,200 per hour. Only if a pilot chooses the complete course with a checkride is an instrument rating required. The total cost will vary according to the student’s experience level and can run from six to 20 hours. And almost before I could ask, Morris said, “The FAA allows P–51 rides, though, under a special exemption. If they’d grant us an exception, I’d need another L–39 immediately to handle the business.”

The Walk Around

Morris and I began with a walk around N992RT, a 1974 C-model Albatros. Other versions ready the L–39 for light-attack missions. On first glance at its near-stiletto nose, it’s clear the 10,300-pound Albatros is fast. Down low, maximum speeds can easily exceed 425 knots. However, this airplane is also designed with systems simple enough—and handling qualities docile enough—to allow no-jet-time aviators to confidently solo in as little as 15 hours. But good jet flying is still demanding. Morris says that his no-previous-jet-time customers usually need between 15 and 20 hours to complete the training. “You’d think pilot problems would be all about stick-and-rudder skills here,” he said. “But most of the time, problems pop up because students simply haven’t spent enough time with the books. They need to know the L–39’s systems and our profiles cold when they walk in the door.” Not much different than corporate flying.

Preflight means ensuring the controls move properly, the pitot probes are undamaged, the oil level is sufficient, and both engine intakes—so dark you always need a flashlight—are clear of debris. You scramble up the side of the Albatros before you climb in, where the L–39 seat is not comfortable, not even a little bit. But then, you’re sitting on a parachute and a disarmed ejection seat. I eventually did find some degree of comfort, even with that big, fat, five-point harness; a helmet; visor; and an oxygen mask.

The author and Greg Morris review the aircraft flight envelope during ground school (right). The L–39’s Fowler flaps are clearly visible during the preflight inside Gauntlet Warbird’s hangar at Aurora Municipal Airport (left).

Many of the panel gauge identifications are written in Cyrillic, with metric scales, the panel looks much like that of a U.S.-built fighter jet—including the narrow and mildly pressurized (4 psi) cockpit. The big throttle on the left side includes a thumb-operated speed-brake switch to make extension and retraction of the boards beneath the belly easy. The checkout includes a brief on the L–39’s castering nose gear. Steering happens through coordinated use of brakeless rudder pedals augmented by a handbrake, which looks like it was swiped from a 10-speed bike, attached to the control stick. Need a right turn? Hold full right rudder and gently grab the handbrake. “That braking system is the single thing that gets everyone,” Morris told me. “I constantly get thrown around in the backseat while we’re on the ground as folks get used to it.” He joked, “That’s one reason I wear the helmet.”

The 3,800-pound-thrust Ukrainian-built AI25-TL engine needs an air-assisted start provided by the onboard Sapphire APU. Once it spins up the engine we begin taxi practice to the runway, something a bit akin to learning to steer my old taildragger. Like most jets, before-takeoff items are few, except for the slam check, where I shove the throttle from idle to full power to time how long it takes to reach full power, normally about 12 to 14 seconds, which is why you almost never, ever pull the throttle back to idle if you’re high or fast on final, for example, where speed brakes would be adding drag as well.

A Bit Like a Taildragger

I still zig and zag a bit with those brakes for the lineup and hold them while I run the engine to full power—106 percent—before releasing the brake handle. Steering is quite easy as we shoot down the runway. At 90 knots I ease the stick back and we’re through 140 knots with gear and flaps coming up before I know it. In a 200-knot climb, we’re rocketing at 3,000 fpm toward the VFR Gauntlet practice area west of Aurora Airport.

Morris was right. The L–39 is a breeze to fly—light and responsive on the controls. My 200-knot steep turns begin at 14,500 feet with gentle banks. Morris asks to show me a few. He effortlessly cranks that puppy into 45- to 50-degree banks. I try and now it’s really fun, even though the L–39 is clearly sensitive in pitch. “You really need to include the attitude indicator in your scan,” he tells me. “Even a small angular change from the horizon quickly translates into a huge velocity change.” I’ll need to work on these.

Preflight demands a check of the ram air turbine (right), pneumatic pressure (middle), and a look inside the variety of other access panels (left).

Next comes a roll looking out the huge glass canopy. Now I’m really loving this airplane. The stalls are very simple—wait for the buffet and recover. But a secondary stall awaits any pilot who recovers with too much back pressure, too quickly.

The traffic pattern is where the fun really begins as we try out the Albatros as a touch-and-go birds. I was almost exhausted after the first hour-long pattern session before I realized that bizjet pilots don’t normally fly VFR touch and go; approaches and go-arounds, yes, but not touch and goes. Because the Albatros can accelerate so quickly, Morris tells me to fly the upwind and prepare for a quick 180-degree turn back to downwind all at once, pulling the power back just before we reach pattern altitude.

Let the Nose Fall??

In the pattern, you can’t let the speed get away from you or the patterns become ugly, as Morris mentioned in the briefing. It sounded easy, but on the first few, I found myself with the power back, nose up high, and in a turn wondering what might be coming next. “Don’t try to hold everything up,” Morris instructs. “Just let the nose fall as you turn. If you don’t reduce the power quickly as you unload the nose, you’ll easily gain 70 knots turning downwind.” After a few tries, my turns plunk me right on downwind at just under 200 knots. “That’s perfect,” Morris announces. I began to breathe a bit as each landing started to improve on the last.

Reminding me of that slow engine spool-up time, Morris said we’d fly base at 140 knots with the speed brakes extended, demanding high power settings that prepare the engine for instant response in the event of a go-around. On short final, I slow to 120 knots and hold it off like a Cirrus. Some were even more fun as I held the nose up high for a little aerodynamic braking, just like those F–16s I always watch at AirVenture. On a touch and go, as soon as the nosewheel was down, I slammed the throttle in because of that spool-up time again. By the time I return the flaps to takeoff, we’ve reached 90, and the power’s back at max.

In L–39s, the last maneuver to learn is a Simulated Flame Out (SFO) approach, essentially like the instructor pulling back the throttle of a 172 to watch the pilot’s reaction. Since engine failures in fighters are likely to happen up high, simply looking out the window for a great field seldom works. A successful maneuver becomes all about energy management, so pilots don’t end up too high or too fast at the wrong time. Now the blackboard drawings Morris made illustrating Gauntlet’s SFO procedures made more sense. “Some people try to make up their own procedures when they’re nervous,” Morris told me. “When they eventually start flying the way we teach them, it usually all falls into place.”

The SFO practice actually begins near the airport at roughly 3,000 feet agl. Turn final two miles out at 200 knots and cross the numbers headed upwind, a point called High Key. Students set the throttle at 70 percent N1 and try to not touch it again until just before the touchdown. The pilot now blends only the use of flaps, gear, and speed brakes together with a pitch to make the runway. At the numbers, the pilot begins a single 180-degree turn back to downwind. At the Low Key point, opposite the numbers, it becomes easier to figure out whether the plan will work. Morris says a good instructor can see a successful SFO coming a half-mile away. I’m still working on mine.

And so the training hours passed and I eventually began to feel more comfortable in this tiny fighter-plane cockpit—now that I was accustomed to the myriad foreign-language dials and gauges, that is. In the end, the L–39—as slick as I thought it was during that first round of touch and goes—flies just like an airplane, a quite good one, of course, thinking back to a roll rate that could easily knock my eyeballs from side to side if I wasn’t careful. When I look back at checking out in a Cirrus SR22, I thought that, too, was quite an eye-opening experience at the time. Now that I was preparing for the check ride, I realized the L–39 too would someday become just another airplane in the list of those I’ve flown. Yeah, right, Maverick!

Robert Mark publishes Jetwhine.com. This story was reprinted here with permission of AOPA Pilot where it ran originally.

If you keep up with current events, 2024 has the potential for global grimness. All that’s needed is for China to make a move on Taiwan to fan conflicts in Ukraine and the Middle East into World War III, and the US political polarization to devolve into a zero-sum civil war. Ignoring these very real possibilities will not make them disappear, but we can mitigate their contributions to emotional angst by looking up and forward to more gratifying events that are planned for 2024.

And we won’t have to wait long. What’s being called the “Great North American Eclipse” will commence on April 8, when the moon orbits between it and the sun. The moon’s shadow will start in Mexico, cross the river into Texas, and march through Arkansas, Missouri, and into Southern Illinois. It then darkens Indiana, Ohio, western New York, and leaves the continent at Canada’s east coast. Those of us north of this path will only be partially in the dark, but now is the time to Google ways to watch the eclipse safely.

Before our moon casts its shadow on North America, on January 19 it will be the intended landing site for a small experimental spacecraft, SLIM, that Japan launched last September. Just before SLIM attempts its landing, Astrobotic, one of the two private companies hired by NASA will launch its lander, Peregrine, for its lunar landing site near the Ocean of Storms on January 8. The other company, Intuitive Machines, will launch its lunar lander sometime in February. China is also planning another moon mission, Chang’e-6, its fourth, to land on the far side of the moon in May, with the goal of returning rocks and dust for further study.

Looking at our solar system, NASA has several exploratory missions planned. The Europa Clipper is off to Jupiter’s moon in October. But you need patience for this one because the Clipper won’t reach Europa until 2030. It will not attempt to land, but its sensors will attempt to penetrate its icy atmosphere as it orbits above it. Below this icy veil, scientists think there might be an ocean that might support life. The Clipper hopes to ferret out every possible bit of data to answer that hypothesis.

In the realm of possibilities, SpaceX might attempt the next step with its Starship, and Boeing and NASA might finally launch its patient crew of Starliner astronauts to the International Space Station, but there’s a deadline on this destination because NASA plans on deorbiting the ISS in 2030, about the time the Europa Clipper arrives at Jupiter. Both are something to look forward to. –Scott Spangler, Editor