Dream Aircraft

by Schiff, Barry

  We continue accelerating to 130 knots, and power is further pulled back to 2,400 rpm and 41 inches (1,400 hp). VY with both engines operating is 140 knots and results in an initial climb rate of 1,905 fpm.

  After completing the after-takeoff checklist, I begin to relax and enjoy the antiquated anachronism. Ghosts of TWA captains past seem to bark at me from every corner of the cockpit: “More rudder, dammit!” “Keep the ball centered!” “Watch those temps! Yer gonna’ roast the heads!” “What’s the name of that little town down there at three o’clock?” They never let up on a new co-pilot.

  The Martin 404 cruises at 240 knots, 85 knots faster than the DC-3. Fuel consumption during the first hour of flight (including climb) is 300 gallons. Thereafter it burns 185-200 gph. Fuel capacity is 1,000 gallons in each of the two wing tanks.

  The 404 has no bad habits and handles well as long as you don’t expect it to change heading and attitude as sprightly as a smaller, lighter airplane.

  It would be nice if a Martin crew included a flight engineer. The airplane is at least as complex and demanding of attention as many other aircraft that do have engineers. Oil and cylinder-head temperatures, for example, are critical, which means that the oil-cooler doors and cowl flaps have to be adjusted with almost every power and airspeed change.

  After some stalls and engine-out drills, Whitesell directs me back to the airport. (Maximum landing weight is 40,200 pounds.)

  While on a long final approach to Camarillo’s Runway 26, I slow the Martin to below 165 knots and call for “gear down.” Initial deployment of the slotted flaps is limited to 165 knots, and moving the handle to the second notch is allowed only below 130 knots. I expect a hefty pitch change when extending the flaps fully but was pleasantly surprised by only a mild pitching moment. This is the result of another Martin innovation. When the flaps are extended from the second to the third and final notch, the horizontal stabilizers automatically reposition to eliminate the large pitching moment that would otherwise occur. Also, a load-relief system prevents the extension of full flaps until below the maximum-allowable speed of 105 knots.

  Airspeed “over the fence” should be 95 knots, and some power is maintained until the sink rate is arrested in the flare. The mains hopefully chirp, and the nosewheel is landed before commanding the propellers into reverse pitch. Maintaining airspeed between 95 and 105 knots on final approach can be challenging in a Martin (especially when having to burn off excess altitude), but landing one is relatively easy.

  After my first flight, I had more respect for the graybeards with whom I had flown early in my airline career. They operated a handful of airplane in the weather, not above it. This was when airmanship, instinct, and timing seemed to play larger roles than they do today. Flying a Martin 404 also makes one appreciate the increased reliability and relative simplicity of turbofan-powered airplanes.

  Whitesell’s goal is to collect, preserve, and keep flying as many piston airliners as possible. In the meantime, he is searching for a site that will accommodate the display of such aircraft, a place from which they also can be flown and maintained. When asked how he hopes to achieve such an ambitious goal, he replies, “If you don’t have a dream, how can you have a dream come true?”

  A pilot inspecting a Grumman G-44 Widgeon for the first time might think that a World War II tank manufacturer had built the airplane. The fuel caps weigh two pounds each, the landing gear assembly is so rugged that it can be extended safely at any airspeed, and the master switch is a hefty lever that when moved through its several inches of lateral travel goes “klunk” upon reaching its ON or OFF position. This clearly is an airplane designed and built to last.

  This is why the Grumman Aircraft Engineering Corporation was known during its heyday as the Grumman Iron Works. There was nothing fragile about a Grumman-built airplane.

  The Widgeon is the smallest of four amphibious flying boats built by Grumman. The first was the indestructible, 8-seat, G-21 Goose, which debuted in 1937. The popularity of the Goose created a demand for a smaller amphibian, which led to development of the Widgeon in 1940.

  Except for size, the Widgeon and the Goose are similar in appearance. The most distinctive visual difference between the two aircraft is the powerplants. The diminutive Widgeon has 6-cylinder, inverted in-line engines (Ranger 6-440-C5, 200 hp each), while the larger Goose has 9-cylinder radial engines (Pratt & Whitney R-985 Wasp Junior, 450 hp each). A number of Widgeons, however, have been re-equipped with more powerful Avco Lycoming or Teledyne Continental engines and are called Super Widgeons.

  Most Widgeons built before and during World War II were snapped up by the U.S. Coast Guard for use as submarine spotters (the J4F-1), the Navy (the J4F-2), the Army Air Corps (the OA-14), and the Portugese Navy. An improved civilian version of the Widgeon, the G-44A, was introduced in 1944. Production ended in 1949 after a total of 276 Widgeons had been built at Grumman’s Bethpage, Long Island plant.

  Grumman built two additional amphibious flying boats. One was the G-73 Mallard “air yacht” that seated 12 and had tricycle landing gear. The other was the 27,500-pound, twin-engine HU-16 Albatross that was used primarily by the military for air-sea rescue operations (although a few are now in private hands).

  N1340V (Serial No. 1228) is a pristine example of a Grumman Widgeon that was kept by its owner, Merrill Wien, at Orcas Island Airport on Orcas Island, one of the San Juan Islands at the northern end of Puget Sound, Washington. This G-44 began life in 1941 when it was delivered to the Coast Guard. Wien purchased the airplane in 1981 for $40,000 and then, with the assistance of Pat Prociv and an investment of more than $250,000, totally rebuilt the airplane and finished it in its original Coast Guard colors. The most significant modification made to the airplane during the rebuilding process was exchanging the wooden, fixed-pitch, Sensenich propellers for constant-speed, full-feathering Hartzells.

  “With fixed-pitch props,” Wien says, “you could only get 2,060 static rpm at full throttle, which is only about 130-to-140 hp per engine. Performance is improved dramatically with constant-speed props because you can get maximum-allowable rpm (2,450) and a full 200 hp per engine from a standing start.”

  (Unfortunately, performance figures for a Widgeon with constant-speed propellers are unavailable; performance data in this chapter is for a G-44 with fixed-pitch props.)

  Since it was rebuilt, Wien’s airplane was never exposed to salt water operations and had an estimated value of $300,000 in the year 2000.

  If the Wien name sounds familiar, it should. Merrill’s father, Noel Wien, was the Alaskan bush pilot whose exploits and explorations are both legion and legendary. (Highly recommend is the book, Noel Wien: Alaska Pioneer Bush Pilot, by Ira Harkey.)

  In this case, the apple did not fall far from the tree. Merrill Wien is a remarkably accomplished pilot in his own right. He soloed a Luscombe 8A in Seattle on his 16th birthday in 1946 and since then has accumulated more than 30,000, accident-free and adventurous hours doing what most of us can only dream about.

  Wien’s extremely diversified career included flying an assortment of piston and turbine airliners for Pan American Airlines, Air America, and Wien Alaska Airlines. He flew in the Air Force for five years and devoted another chunk of his life to bush flying in Alaska’s hinterlands. The latter included glacier operations in a Cessna 185 skiplane, flying helicopters to tag polar bears on the ice shelf north of Point Barrow, and supplying scientific stations by flying a Douglas DC-4 in and out of ice islands near the North Pole. He also flew a Fairchild C-119 during covert operations to snag balloon-lifted surveillance cameras “somewhere” over Asia.

  He has owned 10 aircraft (including a Lockheed P-38 and two North American B-25s) and is currently a command pilot with the Confederate Air Force flying such exotic military machines as the Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, Consolidated B-24 Liberator, and Boeing B-29 Superfortress. And this just scratches the s
urface.

  A flying boat is designed from the beginning to be a seaplane, unlike floatplanes that are landplanes modified with floats. Its boat-like hull and relatively low center of gravity enable it to operate in sea conditions that could be fatal to a floatplane.

  Like almost all flying boats, the Widgeon has a high wing that places the engines as high as possible to reduce water spray that can damage propellers. The disadvantage becomes obvious during a preflight inspection. Without a tall ladder available, the pilot must climb forward along the top of the fuselage and onto the wings to check fuel and oil quantities, a decidedly unpleasant chore during harsh weather conditions. (The 108-gallon fuel supply is divided equally in two 54-gallon wing tanks.)

  A single hull, however, is not as laterally stable as the wider stance of a floatplane. Wing-mounted floats are used on “boats” to prevent a wingtip from striking the water.

  The original Widgeon was all-metal except that fabric covered the primary control surfaces, flaps, and that portion of each wing aft of the spar. (Fabric saves weight and reduces the likelihood of flutter.) During the rebuilding process, the flaps and aft wing sections of Wien’s Widgeon were metalized. There is one trim tab on each elevator. The left tab is conventional, but the one on the right deflects only downward and automatically when the high-lift, slotted wing flaps are extended (to partially offset the nose-down pitching moment caused by flap deployment).

  Aside from draining whatever water might have seeped into watertight compartments (which is normal during water operations) and verifying that no one has absconded with the stainless-steel anchor stored in the bow, the preflight inspection is routine.

  Pilots and passengers enter the Widgeon through a single hatch on the left side of the fuselage immediately aft of the left wing, an initially challenging procedure for tall people.

  The instrument panel spans only the left and center sections of the available space. This leaves a vacant area where the co-pilot’s instruments would otherwise be. This open area allows someone to crawl forward and into the bow, open the top hatch compartment, and aid in anchoring or mooring at a buoy. It also is a great place from which to fish.

  The arrangement and distribution of controls, switches, levers, and instruments takes getting used to. The upper control panel above the windshield contains the throttles, trim-tab controls, tailwheel lock, landing-gear lever and latches, flap control, ignition, and various other switches and instruments. The upper rear panel is on the ceiling aft of the upper control panel and contains fuel-system, mixture, and carburetor-heat controls. This also is where the oversized master switch is located. Because these controls are not logically or ergonomically placed, it behooves a new Widgeon pilot to spend ground time in the cockpit becoming familiar with the locations of critical controls.

  The single vertical control column to which the control wheels are attached is between the pilots’ seats. Before being modified, Wien’s Widgeon had a single throw-over control wheel like many Bonanzas. Although the left-seat pilot is provided with rudder/brake pedals, the right-seat pilot has a rudder bar (like the steering handles of a snow sled) and no brakes.

  The fully castering, retractable tailwheel is not steerable. Directional control is maintained using differential braking. There is no problem seeing over the low nose of this taildragger, and it is well-mannered on the ground. But if a pilot is concerned about the Widgeon expressing a directional will of its own while taxiing, taking off, or landing on land, he can engage the tailwheel lock using the lever on the overhead panel. Having to reach up to manipulate the throttles is different but is something to which a new “boat” pilot becomes quickly acclimatized.

  Takeoffs and landings on land are unremarkable for a taildragger. It is when being operated on water that the Widgeon becomes challenging. Wien checked me out in water operations at 8-mile-long Lake Whatcom near Bellingham on the Washington mainland.

  As the throttles are advanced for takeoff, the sprite little boat yaws left before the rudder has sufficient airspeed to arrest the turn. (Unlike floatplanes, the Widgeon does not have a water rudder; directional control while taxiing is maintained with differential thrust.) The same yawing moment is created by the engines of conventional twins but is largely negated by the nosewheel tire.

  Taking off from water in a Widgeon requires advancing the left throttle ahead of the right to maintain a constant takeoff heading. An alternate method is to start the takeoff run at a heading that is 30 degrees right of the desired takeoff run. I found it preferable to use differential thrust while others prefer using an offset heading.

  The only takeoff data available for a Widgeon in water is cited in the meager Pilot’s Handbook as “25 seconds.” With constant-speed propellers, this reportedly is reduced to 12 seconds.

  When taking off with miles of water visible in the windshield, the notion of an engine failure immediately after liftoff is not as daunting as when flying a light twin from land. Simply land straight ahead and worry later about how difficult or impossible it can be to steer the boat on water with asymmetric thrust.

  Once airborne, the Widgeon is just another light twin, but you still cannot escape the exciting notion that you are flying a boat that belongs as much on water as in the air. And although we went through the full regimen of aerial maneuvers, I was eager to return to the lake. One noteworthy observation is that the constant-speed, full-feathering propellers on Wien’s Widgeon provide acceptable engine-out performance. The single-engine rate of climb and service ceiling with fixed-pitch propellers (that do not feather) are regarded as nil.

  Also, the high thrust line of the engines causes a slight nose-down pitching moment when adding power and a nose-up moment when reducing power.

  As we returned to Lake Whatcom, I went through the required mental litany over and over again. “This will be a water landing; the landing gear will not be extended.”

  Although each pilot has a small sliding-glass window that may be open in flight, I learned the wet way that they should be closed before landing. Otherwise, a bath towel should be included on the minimum-equipment list.

  The 65-knot approach and 50-knot touchdown are relatively conventional. There are no surprises until the Widgeon is firmly on the water. This is when a new Widgeon pilot discovers that the most demanding aspect of operating a Widgeon on water is controlling its headstrong penchant for porpoising, especially during downwind step turns. It takes considerable practice and humility to learn the skills and develop the timing necessary to keep porpoising under control. If allowed to become sufficiently divergent, it is possible to lose the airplane. (One owner has understandably named his Widgeon The Petulant Porpoise.) Wien controls this tricky characteristic almost effortlessly; it is like watching a maestro at work.

  The wing floats prevent pulling alongside a dock and parking without someone on the dock to grab a wingtip or float strut. Ramping is much easier. While very slowly approaching a ramp, lower the landing gear (hydraulically) and allow the wheels to contact the rising slope. As the aircraft comes to a stop, add substantial power to pull the machine out of the water and onto land, steering as necessary with differential power to remain on the ramp.

  The rugged and hefty appearance of a Widgeon belies its delightful handling qualities and performance. It is a wonderful blend of amphibious utility and pure, unadulterated fun.

  The sight of a boat with wings must have seemed strange to the boating enthusiasts at Clear Lake in northern, California. As we maneuvered the Lake LA-4 amphibian on the water, a variety of powerboats made cautious passes to see what manner of craft was cruising the water so comfortably at 40 mph.

  The Lake was designed to operate on the water at high speed, and I had no difficulty outperforming even the ablest of surface craft, except one. I noticed the twin inboard racer overtaking me from starboard. The driver meant to show that he was master of the lake.

  The
speedboat’s occupants grinned with delight as they passed. With open water ahead and not to be outdone, I inched the throttle forward until we were indicating 50 mph and barely catching the mahogany racer. My opponent gave it all, and the twin screws churned the water mightily.

  It was time. I asked my passenger to close the windows as I extended the flaps. The amphibian lifting out of the water and passing the racer at more than 100 mph was an embarrassing defeat for my opponent.

  Earlier that day, my passengers and I arrived at Oakland Airport where Ron Timm, a Lake dealer, began my checkout in the LA-4. I then left my friends for the hour or so it would take Timm and me to fly to Lake Berryessa for the completion of my checkout.

  During this checkout, Timm tossed around nautical terms such as port, starboard, bow, and so forth. His barnacles showed, though, when I referred to the tie-down ropes. “Seaplane pilots use lines, not ropes,” he said smiling.

  He then instructed me to remove the plugs from 6 watertight compartments to check for water leakage in the hull and wing floats. These are checked daily and after heavy water work. It is not unusual to find at least a cupful. “And don’t forget to replace the plugs before operating on water,” he stressed.

  There are wide walkways along the top of the bow stressed to support as many people as can fit. These are excellent platforms from which to fish, dive, and sunbathe. I opened a small door on top of the bow to check for the anchor and 20 feet of line for mooring when a dock, ramp, or buoy is unavailable. An oar is stored between the left sidewall and the pilot’s seat, just in case.

  The 40-gallon fuel tank in the fuselage is refueled through a single filler. There are 2 fuel drains under the port wing root. Checking oil quantity requires standing on the walkway above the cockpit to reach the dipstick of the pylon-mounted pusher engine.