Returning to the Backcountry

The “runway” is just a little strip of rarely cut grass in the San Juan Islands, not much more than 1,200 feet long and 50 feet wide. It runs perpendicular to the shoreline and slightly uphill, with tall trees at the far end. On final at 800 feet and still over the water, it looks way too short and narrow to me. Maybe something on which I could comfortably drive a riding lawnmower but definitely not land an airplane. I have the power in the Cessna 180 at 14 inches of MP, the flaps all the way down, and the IAS down to where the stall warner is starting to whistle. That sound is what I am really paying attention to as opposed to the airspeed indicator. As I know from earlier practice in this particular airplane, it will stall at about 45 knots, and the stall warner will start sounding off about 20 knots before that, making my airspeed of about 65 knots actually about 1.4 Vso.

As the airplane closes on the shoreline, I remind myself that 1.4 Vso is actually more as a multiple of stall than I would be holding in the Lear, where Vref (1.3 Vso) is closer to 130 knots. I know the required runway landing length in the C180 is about 500 feet, and despite how things look, I have 2.4 times the amount of runway needed to stop the airplane. Much more typically than we have available in a business jet flying into many general aviation airports with 5,000-foot runways. All appearances aside, I am on a safe, stabilized final with plenty of runway to spare and the IAS a little high, if anything. To my business jet-accustomed eye, however, it just sounds very disconcerting.

Passing over the shoreline, I bleed the power back and, with a very slight bounce, make a full stall three-point landing, followed by a short 400-foot roll out. As the airplane comes to a stop on grass that still has some morning dew, I turn it around and taxi back to a wide spot near the water’s edge, shut the engine down and open the window. All I can hear is the metallic clicking sound from the engine as it cools, and the calls of a flock of seagulls on the shoreline as they fight over seafood morsels in a bunch of fresh seaweed washed up by the tide. There are a few summer cabins visible, but this being the late fall, I am here all alone. I get out of the airplane, take a deep breath of the salt air and seaweed and say to myself, “This is why I returned to backcountry flying.”

For those of you who have followed my recent articles, you know that two years ago, I decided to start simplifying my flying life, switching my Cessna 340 to a single-engine Cessna 180 taildragger (to potentially put on amphibious floats). All the while getting away from the business jets, pressurized twins and helicopters I have been flying professionally for the past 30-plus years. Frankly, I don’t know what exactly led me to do this, but it seems a lot of other pilots of the social security age (maybe even yourself) are considering the same thing. Maybe it is just a desire to stop spending so much time in hotels on layovers while flying business jets. Maybe it’s a “been there and done that” kind of thinking. Maybe it’s the increasing insurance availability problems and costs the industry has been plagued with. Or maybe (perish the thought) it’s simply increasing age…probably a combination of all of them. But now, sitting on a beach log next to the airplane on a very peaceful, sunny morning with absolutely no one else around, whatever the reason, I am very glad I did it.

And, just like flying Lears at FL450 seems natural in those airplanes, there is something about single-engine tailwheel airplanes that makes flying them off short nonpaved surfaces also seem the natural thing to do. The airplane itself seems almost to resist when being flown into long, paved runways and shows it by getting all irritable and difficult to control with wandering on either side of the white line on takeoff. On landing, there is almost always a slight (or greater) bounce followed by a protesting screech of tires on pavement as the airplane decelerates and rudder control is gradually lost. Hitting selective brakes to make it behave better sometimes just makes it worse. Taxiing to the FBO over concrete for miles and miles while trying to see over the nose is also a nuisance. Whereas, on backcountry grass or river bottom gravel, none of this occurs. The airplane seems in its own element, much happier and easier for the pilot to handle.

But, there are also other reasons for flying these tailwheel airplanes. The nosewheel on tricycle gear airplanes is relatively small and, from an engineering point of view, actually a weak point. Plus nosewheels have an affinity for finding gofer holes, almost like a bird dog sniffing for game. Whereas the typically 750 or 850-sized main gear on the tail dragger typically rolls over any hole in the landing surface of less than 6 inches in size as if it was not there. The propeller is also a good foot or higher above terrain, making it much less likely to be damaged by gravel or other debris. And finally, truth be told, there is a certain pride to flying taildraggers. Somehow as you clamber down out of the cockpit, you delude yourself into thinking that the line guys are murmuring, “Now, that is a real pilot.”

So, after purchasing this Continental 550 overpowered STOL and big main tire equipped C180 a year ago, I gradually worked my way through most of the local backcountry strips we have here in the Northwest (and there are a lot of them). Occasionally, on final to a very short appearing airstrip, I would need to remind myself, “You used to teach people how to do this stuff without sweating it at all, so just relax.” And I finally did become almost as comfortable with it as I was 11,000 hours and all those years ago. But then I got to thinking now that I have this airplane down pretty well in its tailwheel configuration, I wonder how it will fly on amphibs with the two little wheels up front. I got all kinds of advice and warnings from other well-intentioned pilots that the four wheels make it difficult to steer as you rely completely on rudder and differential braking. It might take many hours to get back into the business of float flying. Yet, I had the set of Aerocet 3400 amphibs I ordered last year stored in the hangar, and in spite of the warnings, I recently had them installed.

It turned out that most of the warnings were without much justification. I found when leading the turn with a little power, full rudder and a touch of brake, I was taxiing the airplane like a pro within 10 minutes. It is very similar to a Lake I used to own, which also had a free-castering nosewheel – and oddly enough to a Lear 35, which has a hydraulically controlled nosewheel. Takeoffs, however, are a bit different and required some practice. First, the torque and P-factor tend to pull the airplane to the left as you start the takeoff run, with the little two nosewheels
obediently following. This can be compensated for by starting with the right rudder pedal buried, then gradually adding power and easing off the pedal as the rudder becomes more effective.

The next thing is that the airplane in tailwheel configuration has a positive pitch attitude throughout the takeoff run and therefore tends to become airborne all by itself. But, on amphibs, the airplane is sitting level. And with the main gear behind the center of gravity, the airplane wants to stay in that attitude even when well past rotation speed unless a substantial pull on the control wheel occurs. The problem with this is that as soon as the main gear comes off the runway, you instantly become over-pitched, and need to promptly lower the nose to maintain a decent climb speed (usually about 80 knots). But after five or six takeoffs, I got the hang of it.

Having previously owned a C185 on straight floats and having some unwelcome encounters with docks, another concern of mine was the inability to stop the airplane on water. So, I also had an MT reversible 3-blade propeller installed. It is a wonderful thing, both on land and on water. In most tight parking spots, you can reverse the propeller, back straight out, make a 90-degree turn in reverse, then nonchalantly go on down the taxiway as the ramp guys stare in amazement. The effect on water is even more impressive – pull right up to the dock, put it in reverse, and stop exactly where you want. The engine can also be stopped with the prop in feather. This is very handy when starting the engine without any dockside help. You can start the engine and then deal with your lines without the airplane pulling away. Reversible propellers are common in the turbine float planes I have flown, but I find the MT propeller a little easier to control than those powered by a PT or Garrett.

After installing the floats, I started doing different backcountry flights and comparing the differences with what I was doing in tailwheel configuration on land. There are more landing options with floats, at least in my section of the Northwest. Many rivers with isolated sections, lakes up in the Cascades, and islands in the San Juan’s are all open to seaplanes. They each come with their own cautions. For example, if operating off salt water, you must be careful that here at 48 degrees North, we commonly have 3 to 4-foot tides. If you are not careful, you could pull the airplane up to the beach, go have a nice picnic, then come back to find the airplane stuck high and dry for the rest of the day.

It is mid-winter now, and the weather has been restricting much of my Cessna 180 flying on either floats or wheels, leaving me to sit by the fire and wonder what I should do when the season changes. I am thinking about putting the airplane back in tailwheel configuration and seeing if all those backcountry airports in Idaho I flew into 30 years ago have changed much. Thus far, my trip down airplane memory lane has had no unpleasant surprises. I will let you know about Idaho.