Dream Aircraft

by Schiff, Barry

  The good news is that pitch trim (an adjustable horizontal stabilizer) is seldom needed because the nose stays wherever it is put irrespective of airspeed and power variations.

  With a wing area of 297 square feet and a light wing loading of only 5.9 pounds per square foot, the airplane responds to every gust and can be a handful in turbulence.

  The two rocker-arm push rods behind each cylinder are exposed and can be seen moving rapidly up and down, each one opposite to the other. It is like watching a pair of sewing machines working in opposition. But you don’t need to observe the push rods to know that the engine is running.

  Although the 372-cubic-inch engine makes a pleasant sound reminiscent of a bygone era, it makes too much. The airplane is very noisy and not because of its blistering airspeed. A short exhaust stack atop each cylinder seems specifically designed to amplify the noise and aim it directly at the pilots. In later years, radial engines were equipped with collector rings that gathered exhaust from all cylinders and directed it beneath the aircraft (and, thankfully, away from the pilots).

  The engine in Martin’s PT-K is at least as old as the airplane, and Kinner expert, Al Ball, says that it probably belongs more in a museum than bolted onto the business end of an airplane. There is no published TBO for the engine, but Ball says that a Kinner K-5 should get about 500 hours between overhauls.

  There also is no pilot’s operating handbook for the PT-K and performance information published in some books appears to be more rumor than reality. At the maximum-allowable power setting of 1,810 rpm, the airplane is supposed to step out at 104 mph (not!), and normal cruise at 1,500 rpm is 85 mph. There is no redline airspeed shown in the single page of operating limitations, perhaps because the aircraft could never reach it.

  The PT-K reportedly can do a loop from straight and level flight, but this seems doubtful.

  The aircraft is mild mannered during a power-off stall and simply enters a mushing descent at 45 mph. Based on this, 60 mph seems a reasonable airspeed for climb, glide, and approach. A pilot does not have to worry about the effects of excess speed on final approach because the airplane has built-in speed brakes: its own drag. Pull the power back and it decelerates quickly.

  Although wheel landings are relatively easy, a 3-point landing is not. This might be because Martin replaced the short tailskid with a large Scott 3200 tailwheel that necessitates touching down in a relatively flat attitude, which almost assures a bounce. Once on the ground, be prepared to work the rudder pedals with vigor. The PT-K seems to have an aversion to rolling straight.

  Martin has only 20 hours in taildraggers (some in the PT-K) and has yet to solo his airplane. He wanted to fly it to the EAA AirVenture Fly-In Convention in Oshkosh this year because the airplane is likely an award winner. But given the aircraft’s limited performance, Martin has been discouraged from doing so because of the difficulty he would have crossing the Continental Divide and the incessant work required to keep the airplane on an even keel (especially in turbulence).

  Martin’s Lincoln is nevertheless a beautiful example of a pioneering aircraft, and its capabilities should be considered in context. Although the PT-K was manufactured in 1930, it is based on a 1921 design that had languished for the better part of a decade. It was designed only 18 years after Kitty Hawk and 3 years after the end of World War I, and it gives us a wonderful opportunity to fly into the yellowing pages of history and learn what it was like to have been a pilot of that era.

  We were flying low and in formation over the coastal hills east of Livermore, California, maneuvering for a camera in the warm light of a low sun.

  Lengthening shadows began to fill the valleys and hide the few flat spots that could be used for an emergency landing. I was not thrilled about having to rely on an antique engine at such a time. My grip on the control stick tightened slightly and I began to consider my options in case of power loss.

  But then a strange thing happened. It was as if the airplane was trying to tell me something. I could almost hear the words. “When I taught you to fly so very long ago, I endured and forgave your ham-fisted blundering. It seemed as though you were trying to break both my back and my spirit. But I never let you down. Not once. I protected you from yourself more times than I can remember. Shame on you for thinking that I might betray you now.”

  The words were right. I knew that I could trust this airplane without reservation. I felt secure and comfortable as the bond between us renewed. My grip on the stick relaxed and I needed only my fingertips to lead the Champ through an aerial ballet in the disappearing rays of sunlight.

  During the summer of 1992, I realized that in a few months I would have been flying for 40 years. I took my first lesson at Clover Field (now called Santa Monica Airport) at the age of 14 in an Aeronca 7AC Champion on November 7, 1952.

  Not only did I receive my aerial baptism in N81881 but it also was the airplane that I soloed and earned my private, commercial and flight instructor certificates. But I learned the most about flying when the Champ and I taught others to fly.

  I wondered if N81881 was still flying. Or had this number been passed unceremoniously to some other aircraft? Surely, I thought, the old trainer had yielded to the ravages of time. But a search of FAA records showed that the Champ had survived and was registered to James Bottorff of Livermore, California.

  I contacted Bottorff to see if I could arrange to once again fly what undoubtedly has been the most meaningful and memorable aircraft of my career. What a wonderful way that would be to celebrate my fortieth anniversary aloft. To my delight, Bottorff agreed to let me fly his Champ. He even seemed to sense and share my excitement.

  A hopeless romantic, I suffered some anxiety as I approached the Champ. It was as though I were about to rendezvous with my first love, fearing I would discover that the relationship was not as wondrous as the memories had made it seem.

  N81881 was parked in front of Bottorff’s hangar. Its door was open, leaning against the aft wing strut, as if inviting me to step in for a nostalgic rendezvous with the past. The Champ had aged more gracefully than I had. It had four changes of fabric, at least as many paint jobs and plenty of affectionate care.

  The aircraft had undergone a few changes since the last time I flew it. These included removal of the wind-driven generator and the low-frequency radio, which had the broadcast range of a megaphone. These were replaced with a VHF transceiver powered by a rechargeable, battery pack. Also added were wheel pants, a larger tailwheel, and an increase from 65 to 75 horsepower.

  Bottorff was an architect who worked at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. He had liked the idea of an affordable, fabric-covered taildragger with a control stick instead of a wheel. “It seems more like real flying,” he said. Bottorff bought N81881 in May, 1985.

  He told me that one of the Champ’s previous owners was Doren Bean, who also had kept the aircraft at Livermore. In 1980 and while still owner of the Champ, Bean borrowed a Pitts S-1 from his good friend, Jeff Chambliss. During his second flight in the Pitts, Bean had an accident and was killed.

  During the subsequent investigation, the FAA determined that Bean did not have a pilot’s certificate. The San Joaquin County Sheriff’s Department discovered also that Bean had some aliases. One of these was D. B. Cooper. Doren Bean, therefore, might have been the world’s first skyjacker (who bailed out of a Northwest Orient Boeing 727 in 1971 with a $200,000 ransom). During a telephone interview, Chambliss told me that Bean had frequently mentioned his exploits as a skydiver, and this explained why many of the locals at Livermore were convinced that the infamous skyjacker played a minor role in the history of N81881.

  The squatty, pug-nosed Aeronca Champ is neither glamorous nor distinctive. Its features are almost nondescript and resemble the typical, rubber-band-powered model airplane found in hobby shops. Nor does it go very fast. Aeronca pilots must be content to match the pace of fr
eeway traffic. But the Champ’s leisurely stride is a refreshing escape from the frenetic pace of modern life.

  Climbing aboard a Champ requires the agility of a contortionist but once inside, the accommodations are comfortable.

  But my mother, who was one of my first passengers, did not consider the Champ very comfortable. As I sat in N81881 at Livermore almost 40 years later, I could still hear her scream reverberating throughout the fabric-covered hull. “Stop tilting the airplane,” she shrieked. I continued around the traffic pattern using the shallowest possible bank angle, but she would never again fly with me in a light airplane.

  The instrument panel is Spartan, and few Champs are equipped with more than is required. The fuel gauge atop the glare shield is the same design that was used in the Model A Ford and occasionally allows fuel to leak into the cockpit. The solution is to replace the indicator with a floating cork-and-wire gauge.

  That fuel gauge almost ended my flying career before it had begun. The smell of leaking fuel from the 13-gallon tank made me so airsick that I almost quit after my third lesson.

  The Champ can be flown solo from the front or rear seat. Instructors, however, prefer the student in front where he can see the instruments and get the best view of the outside world. The rear perch is the domain of the instructor. From there, he can bop an errant student on the noggin with a rolled-up chart.

  I used to take advantage of the rear seat while instructing to sneak short naps on cross-country flights. After all, how far astray could a student get in 15 minutes at 74 knots?

  According to a bulletin issued by the Aeronca Owners Club, “cross-country flight in a Champ is slow but possible.” If a Champ pilot becomes impatient when flying into a headwind, he simply turns around and heads the other way. It is understood that where we go is not as important as the fun we have in getting there. Champ pilots also become topographical experts. This is because the terrain beneath our wings moves so slowly that we have time to study what other pilots see only as a blur.

  When the 7AC is flown solo from the front, 40 pounds of baggage may be carried in the canvas catch-all behind the rear seat. If the rear seat is occupied, only 20 pounds is allowed.

  Starting the 65-hp Continental engine is easy as long as someone is available to hold the brakes while the prop is turned by hand (a device known as an Armstrong starter). The engine has no provision for an electrical starter, which is just as well. Most Champs do not have an electrical system either.

  The on-off fuel valve, carburetor-heat knob and magneto switches are in a recessed panel on the left cabin sidewall below the window and between the tandem seats. These controls are easily accessible to the rear pilot but the front pilot must crane his neck, twist his torso, and manipulate his double-jointed left arm to use them.

  Most pilots accustomed only to tricycle landing gear have no difficulty taxiing a Champ. The steerable tailwheel responds nicely to rudder-pedal movement. Over-the-nose visibility is good so that S-turning to see ahead is unnecessary. The Champ, however, is an outstanding weather vane and tends to turn into the slightest breeze.

  I used to win a fair amount of money betting that I could taxi a Champ into a strong wind using only the ailerons for steering. I simply took advantage of the adverse yaw effect of the ailerons, which demonstrates why most airplanes need a rudder.

  While taxiing into the wind, I would move the control stick full left. The seemingly contrary little Champ would turn right; full right stick caused it to go left. Using only adverse yaw effect, I could S-turn an Aeronca the full length of a mile-long taxiway.

  The Champ’s large ailerons also produce considerable adverse yaw in flight and require substantial rudder application. This trainer is intolerant of sloppy flying and demands adroit stick-and-rudder coordination to keep the slip-skid ball under control.

  The mechanical brake system obviously was designed by a sadist who disregarded the limited dexterity of the human ankle. Operating the two heel brakes requires resting the balls of the feet on the rudder bars. Next, the heels are brought together until cocked at 45-degree angles. The pilot then jabs at the plywood floor with his heels until they find the tiny brake pedals (which are barely larger than postage stamps). The brakes are not very effective and should be used only at low speed or when out of other ideas.

  The parking brake handle is under the right side of the instrument panel but should not be used because it never works.

  Immediately above that is the cabin-heat control. I learned never to pull this out completely because the heat is so highly concentrated that it would broil my right foot while the rest of me froze.

  The takeoff is relatively easy for a taildragger. Cruise altitude, however, is reached in far less time than is required of more powerful aircraft. This is because Aeroncas are not flown very high. The advertised climb rate of 500 fpm is incredibly optimistic (300 fpm is more like it), but the angle of climb is surprisingly steep (because of the low forward speed).

  Aloft, the Champ is as docile and forgiving as any pilot of the late forties could expect. The ailerons are heavy though and when deflected during a stall can induce an unexpected spin. Also, the Champ is slightly deficient in nose-up trim when the rear seat is empty. Otherwise, it is a delightful aerial playmate.

  Aeronca never published a pilot’s operating handbook for the 7AC but the pertinent number seems to get passed along from one pilot to the next: Climb and glide at 52 knots. If the airspeed indicator seems in error, which it usually is, just fly a comfortable attitude.

  Steep turns at Aeronca speeds are remarkable. The Champ can pivot around a pylon in only 10 seconds when in a 60-degree bank, which is impossible in faster machines.

  The Champ does not have flaps but because of large and effective control surfaces, it can be slipped from the sky more dramatically and steeply than modern airplanes being slipped with flaps extended.

  Anyone who claims that flying has to be expensive has not been introduced to Aeronca economics. The Champ is inexpensive to buy and fly. A refurbished 7AC with new fabric, new paint and a low-time engine can be purchased for less than the price of a medium-priced car and sips only 3.5 gallons of fuel per hour during cruise. Depreciation? There is none. Aeroncas probably will continue to increase in value as they have for the last 20 years.

  When I brought the Champ to rest at the end of our flight together, I turned off the mags and watched the wooden propeller tick to a stop as I had so many times before. Memories continued to rattle around like pennies in a drum. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back and remembered with fondness many of the students we had taught to fly, and with relief, many of the mistakes I had somehow survived.

  No other airplane taught me as much or as well about flying.

  No other airplane ever will.

  Two of the author’s favorite airplanes, an Aeronca “Champ” for fun and a Lockheed L-1011 for work.

  The seeds for the Aeronca 7AC Champion were sown in 1928 when the Aeronautical Corporation of America developed the Aeronca C-2 and C-3, bathtub-shaped monoplanes. These strange-looking aircraft had little more power than a go-cart and performance to match.

  Aeronca failed to produce anything noteworthy until it developed the L-3 Grasshopper liaison aircraft that served a military role during World War II.

  In 1943, Ray Hermes used the L-3 as the basis for designing the Aeronca 7AC Champion. The affable Champ—known affectionately as the Airknocker—first flew in 1944, was certified on October 18, 1945, and began rolling off the Middletown, Ohio production line in 1946 with a price tag of $2,295.

  In addition to the 65-hp Model 7AC, Aeronca produced the 85-hp Model 7BC and the 90-hp Model 7CC. The 7DC and 7EC also had 85- and 90-hp engines, respectively, but these were equipped with larger dorsal fins.

  When production ceased in 1951, Aeronca had manufactured 20,000 aircraft. More than 10,000 of these were Champ
s of which 7,190 were original Model 7ACs. Almost 1,800 of them are still flying.

  Aeronca also produced the Aeronca 11AC Chief, which had side-by-side seating, and the Model 15AC Sedan, which seated four, had a 145-hp Continental engine and performed like a Cessna 170.

  In 1954, the newly formed Champion Aircraft Corporation of Osceola, Wisconsin, purchased the Champ’s tooling and design rights and began where Aeronca left off. It reintroduced the Model 7EC as the Champion Traveller and in 1956 unveiled the 7FC Tri-Traveler, a 90-hp Champ with tricycle landing gear.

  Additional, less-popular models, included the 7GCA Sky-Trac, which had three seats, the agricultural 7GCB Challenger and the 7HC DX’er, which was similar to the Sky-Trac but had tricycle gear.

  Next came the unorthodox 7JC Tri-Con, a strange looking Champ with a reversed tricycle undercarriage. This consisted of a large, steerable wheel under the center of the fuselage behind the main gear. This ungainly looking aircraft was an immediate failure as was the final model, the 7KC Olympia, which was bold attempt to restyle the box-like shape of the basic Champ design.

  But Champion Aircraft did not give up. In 1961, it introduced the revolutionary Lancer 402 with tandem seating and an engine for each seat. Intended as an inexpensive multi-engine trainer, the Lancer was unable to maintain altitude, any altitude, on one engine.

  Perseverance paid off in 1962 when Champion Aircraft introduced an aerobatic version of Aeronca’s last model, the 7EC. This beefed-up aircraft was called the Champion 7ECA Citabria and was the forerunner of Bellanca’s popular Citabria, Decathlon and Scout aircraft, which were manufactured between 1970 and 1980.

  In 1989, American Champion Aircraft Corporation of Rochester, Wisconsin, purchased the rights to the Bellanca taildraggers and began manufacturing the Decathlon in 1991 and the Scout a year later. The Citabria was available around the end of 1993.