Dream Aircraft

by Schiff, Barry

  The brakes and landing gear have their own hydraulic systems. One must not forget to turn on the electric brake pump before taxiing. I can attest that this is a mistake you make only once. Differential braking steers the castoring nosewheel.

  During flight the Be-103 tends to hunt slightly in turbulence, not unusual for a flying boat, and is due to the destabilizing effect of a long bow.

  With the wing behind the pilot, cockpit visibility is excellent.

  The wing-in-water concept precludes the possibility of flaps, so there are none. An 11-foot-long fixed slat on the outboard leading edge of each wing enhances slow flight (and costs only 1 knot of cruise speed). The resultant high-lift wing has benign stall characteristics, but the stall-warning indicator sounds like a ringing telephone. You might be more likely to respond by saying “hello?” than lowering the nose.

  The large, tall vertical stabilizer combined with closely coupled engines makes handling an engine failure relatively easy. Little rudder pressure is required to keep the aircraft on an even keel.

  If an engine-driven fuel pump fails, an electric boost pump automatically takes over and delivers the correct amount of fuel pressure as dictated by throttle position.

  If the pilot should respond to an engine failure by pulling the incorrect mixture control to idle cutoff (before identifying and confirming the dead engine by retarding the throttle), the boost pump will automatically activate and keep the good engine running, a wonderful safety feature. It is difficult to shut down the operating engine by mistake.

  Water landings are easy, but landing in a significant crosswind with such a low wing could be problematical. The good news is that seaplane pilots almost always land directly into the wind.

  Attitude remains stable and flat in step turns from downwind to upwind, a time when conventional seaplanes tend to tip outboard.

  The propellers are moved into reverse pitch by pulling the throttles aft of idle. There is no independent water rudder, but the air rudder partially extends into the water and has the effect of a water rudder.

  Docking is not quite as easy with a Be-103 as with high-wing airplanes. Instead of pulling alongside a dock, you must maneuver the airplane to a corner of a dock so that one edge is alongside the forward fuselage and the other is near the wing. It is not ideal, but it works.

  Water takeoffs are initiated with the stick held fully forward or aft. Elevator input matters not. The wing in the water forces the airplane to assume the proper attitude and rise onto the step unassisted. With the wing roots riding the water, the airplane has remarkable roll stability.

  On the step, the forward portions of the wings are out of but extremely close to the water, which maximizes the influence of ground effect and minimizes induced drag. Nose-down elevator is needed to optimize acceleration on the step.

  One measure of how well a seaplane is built is the amount of water drained from the hull’s watertight compartments after extensive water operations. After my water work at New York State’s Greenwood Lake, I found surprisingly little water in any compartment.

  The trailing-link main landing gear makes every pilot seem like a pro when touching down on land. The gear legs retract forward into watertight wells.

  The nice thing about an amphibian is that malfunctioning landing gear is not as serious as when flying landplanes. If the gear cannot be made to extend, just land on water, and vice versa.

  The pilot’s operating handbook reflects the builder’s airline and military mentality. On the plus side, it is one of the most complete and elaborate handbooks I have ever encountered for a light airplane.

  On the negative side are a host of illogical limitations that clearly need to be removed for general aviation operations. For example, it is unreasonable to ban water takeoffs and landings at night, to limit operating altitude to 10,000 feet msl, to restrict land operations to a minimum runway length of 3,900 feet, to limit takeoffs and landings to elevations below 3,000 feet, and so on.

  The Russians also include the weight of a 176-pound pilot in the empty weight, further reflecting their airline mentality.

  The Beriev 103 is a lot of airplane (5,011 pounds) to be pulled by only a pair of 210-hp engines. The twin could use more muscle, and the factory is being encouraged to increase power to 250 or 300 horsepower per side on future models.

  One nice thing about KnAAPO’s attitude toward general aviation is that in Russia, ground crews are sent in advance to a pilot’s destination. Upon his arrival, they tie down the aircraft, service it, and clean the windshields. I could handle that.

  The silhouette of a Curtiss-Wright CW-1 Junior is distinctive and unmistakable. It has a petite radial engine perched atop a parasol wing that shades a fuselage resembling the hull of an amphibious flying boat.

  The 2-place, open-cockpit landplane also looks like a powered glider. The pilot sits way out in front. Without an engine cowling in the way, he enjoys the same superlative visibility as those who fly sailplanes, and the pusher engine behind him precludes the possibility of his being sprayed with oil.

  The Junior was significant because it represented an effort by Curtiss-Wright to produce an affordable, personal aircraft that would appeal to the average citizen. It was the beginning of the industry-wide attempt to produce an “airplane for every garage.”

  The airplane made its first flight on December 10, 1930 and had a price tag of $1,490. Orders poured into the St. Louis plant at rates that were unprecedented in the fledgling aircraft industry. For a while during 1931, the factory produced 21 Juniors per week, outselling its three main competitors combined. (The junior competed primarily against the Aeronca C-2, American Eagle’s Eaglet, and the Buhl Pup.)

  But the CW-1’s production line came to a screeching halt in early 1932 after 270 aircraft had been built. A victim of the Great Depression, the Junior was Curtiss-Wright’s last attempt to build light airplanes for the “sportsman.”

  The airplane shown on these pages belongs to Paul T. Cullman, a retired rancher, and is based at Meadowmist, a residential airpark at Ferndale, Washington (between Bellingham and Abbotsford, British Columbia).

  An actively flying octogenarian, Cullman soloed in a Piper J-3 Cub on skis in 1942, has accumulated more than 5,000 hours, and has had an uninterrupted AOPA membership since 1943. He has owned numerous aircraft over the years and presently has a Stinson L-5B Sentinel, which I flew as the camera platform for these photos, an American Eagle Eaglet (into which I could not fit), a Mooney MSE modified with a glass cockpit, and his pride and joy, NC11832, a Curtiss-Wright Junior.

  He purchased the airplane in 1985 for $3,500, but it needed quite a bit of work. He built new wings and ailerons, and fabricated a mount for the petite, French-made, 187-cubic inch, 9-cylinder, 40-hp Salmson AD-9 radial engine that was built in 1929.

  The Junior originally had a cantankerous, temperamental, 3-cylinder, 45-hp Szekely (pronounced Say-kay) SR-3 radial engine made in Holland, Michigan. This relic ran rough and had a nasty habit of throwing cylinders. A steel restraining cable had to be attached to each cylinder head to prevent it from being blown into the pusher propeller.

  Cullman’s airplane, serial number 1206, rolled out of the factory on June 19, 1931. He estimates that it currently is worth more than $40,000 but would not sell it.

  Fuel and oil tanks are combined in a single, compartmentalized aluminum tank above the wing and ahead of the engine. The forward and largest part of the tank holds 9.2 gallons of avgas (the red vented filler cap), and the smaller aft section holds 6 quarts of oil (the yellow cap) that the engine sprays, drips, and spits almost as quickly as you can refill the tank.

  Cullman’s Junior has no electrical system and is certified only for daytime, VFR flight. Aerobatics are prohibited.

  NC11832 has an empty weight of 570 pounds and a maximum-allowable takeoff weight of 975 pounds. It qualifies, therefore, as
a light-sport airplane. Like many other aircraft of that era, it has a chrome-molybdenum, tubular-steel frame covered in fabric, and the wing has a solid spruce spar.

  There is no baggage compartment, but “cargo” may be stored on the rear seat during solo flight, which is allowed only from the front seat. Strangely, baggage is limited to 14 pounds, much less than the weight of the passenger or instructor who otherwise could be sitting there.

  The Junior cannot be trimmed during flight but does have a ground-adjustable stabilizer that is positioned during preflight preparation according to the anticipated load distribution. (Given my not inconsiderable mass, the stabilizer was set to full nose-down trim prior to my solo flight.)

  Starting the engine involves first turning on the fuel by rotating the valve handle (on the leading edge of the wing) and leaving it on until the carburetor begins to drip fuel. You then turn off the fuel and turn on the oil using a small in-line valve below the oil tank. Starting is accomplished the old-fashioned way, by hand-propping the engine. You have about 30 seconds to turn the fuel back on before the engine quits.

  The airplane has a 2-leaf, spring-steel tailskid and no brakes, so be sure that the airplane is headed in the right direction before advancing the throttle to taxi. The Junior does have a relatively large rudder, so taxiing turns are made easily by blasting propwash across the tail. Tighter turns are made by applying full rudder in the direction of turn and pushing the stick forward to lower the elevator and take some weight off the tailskid. It is surprisingly easy and almost as effective as a steerable tailwheel. (An optional tailwheel was available from the factory for $10.)

  The nose-high attitude of most taildraggers is a result of the need to provide adequate propeller clearance above the ground. This is unnecessary in the case of a Junior, so the landing gear was made short. This results in less weight, less drag, and a nose-low taxi attitude. S-turning to avoid obstacles is unnecessary.

  There is not much to the runup because there is none. Without brakes to restrain the aircraft at high rpm and with only one magneto, the ignition check consists simply of verifying that the engine is running smoothly. Turning off the magneto, of course, would shut down the engine. Cullman has the carburetor heater wired open because of the carburetor’s propensity for icing. Finally, there are no flaps to deploy or trim to adjust.

  With such a high thrust line, adding power for takeoff helps to raise the tail and poise the Junior for flight. Liftoff from the downhill, 2,000-foot grass strip at Meadowmist took only about 200 feet.

  A pleasant surprise is that there is hardly a breeze in the open cockpit; goggles are unnecessary. Cullman reports, however, that it is windy in the back seat and much noisier. (The rear cockpit contains a control stick, rudder pedals, a throttle, and nothing else.)

  Because the wing is behind the pilot and the nose is short and blunt, visibility from the front seat is incredible. This made the Junior popular as a photo platform and aerial scenes for some of Hollywood’s epic films were shot from there. Because a hunter sitting in front had clear shots from so many angles, the airplane also was used to hunt coyotes (as well as for patrolling pipelines and power-lines).

  Frise ailerons reportedly eliminate some of the significant adverse yaw effect typical of older designs, but the Junior is still very much a stick-and-rudder airplane and is intolerant of sloppy flying. Although there is no slip-skid ball on the panel, uncoordinated flight is easily sensed through the seat of one’s trousers.

  The Junior also has a low wing loading and bounces around easily in turbulence. It is one of those airplanes that are easy to fly but not easy to fly well.

  It is even difficult to accurately maintain a given altitude. Firstly, there is no part of the airframe ahead of the pilot to position with respect to the horizon. Secondly, the non-sensitive altimeter is of little help. The single altimeter hand makes one rotation every 20,000 feet—it moves only 2 degrees during a 100-foot altitude change, which is difficult to detect. You can use the wings to maintain the desired attitude but only by looking somewhat aft.

  There is no pilot’s operating handbook for the Junior. During the formative years of aviation, pilots learned about an airplane by flying it.

  Critical airspeeds? There aren’t any. The airplane does not even have an airspeed indicator. A Curtiss-Wright instructor probably would tell you to “raise the nose for VY, and pull back a little more for VX.” According to original advertising literature, the Junior cruises at 65 mph.

  The airplane is equipped, however, with a safety meter designed by a Curtiss-Wright engineer named Walter Beech. It consists of a small metal plate that projects into the relative wind ahead of the front windshield. Wind pressure on the plate pushes against a coiled spring and causes a pointer to move up and down in a slot on the indicator plate on the instrument panel.

  The plate is marked with a lower red band (too fast), a white band (normal range) and an upper red band (too slow). The idea is to keep the pointer “in the white.”

  When asked how the beginning of the high-speed (lower) red band was established, the Junior’s designer, Karl White, said, “We dived the Junior until we figured she was going about as fast as she ought to and made a mark on the plate.” The beginning of the other red band is where the airplane begins to stall.

  The cost of manufacturing this sophisticated instrumentation in 1931 was 35 cents. (Wouldn’t it be fun to have a Beech Safety Meter in a Bonanza?)

  Stalls are unremarkable unless you suffer from acrophobia. As the open-cockpit pitched down and with no aircraft structure in front of me, I had the uneasy feeling that I could have been thrown out of my seat and into Puget Sound.

  Fuel consumption averages 3.5 gph and provides a safe endurance of 2 hours. Cullman says that he tries not to fly more than 100 miles at a time. Curtiss-Wright borrowed the fuel gauge from a Model A Ford but is at the front of the tank and behind the pilot. A mirror is needed to see it during flight, but everything shakes too much to get an indication.

  The approach to landing is made with the indicator of the safety meter near the top of the white band. Although the controls are light, reducing power helps to flare for landing because the high thrust line changes to a high drag line, which raises the nose somewhat.

  The Junior has rigid landing gear; there are no shock absorbers. The balloon tires, however, are filled with only 10 pounds of air pressure and do an adequate job of smoothing the touchdown and rollout. A hinged mud guard behind each main-gear tire prevents debris from being flung into the propeller disk, an especially important feature when operating from unimproved surfaces. (The airplane can operate on hard-surface runways, but the tailskid will wear out rapidly.)

  Minimal braking after touchdown is available by holding the control stick fully aft and forcing the tailskid to press harder against the turf. Otherwise, allow enough room to coast to a stop.

  There is large lettering on the back of the front seat that is clearly visible to the rear-seat passenger. It warns him to walk forward after deplaning to avoid the “whirling propeller.”

  The Curtiss-Wright Junior is a cute, loveable little airplane that engenders great affection and would be a joyful companion for frolicking on a warm, summer afternoon. As Joseph P. Juptner, author of the U.S. Civil Aircraft Series, says, “Flying a Junior is hard to describe. It waddles and sputters its way into your heart and offers a continuous panorama of pleasure.”

  It is not often that a pilot takes off in a single-engine airplane with the intention of shutting down the engine once underway, but that is exactly what you can do when flying an Aeromot AMT-200S Super Ximango, which means falcon in Portuguese. (Xi is pronounced like the French pronunciation of Gi in Gigi.)

  Okay, so the Brazilian-made aircraft is not really an airplane, although it can be used like one. The Ximango is a self-launching sailplane, a touring glider that can take off without a towplane and fly hi
ther and yon in search of thermals and other forms of atmospheric lift, something that power pilots typically prefer to avoid. Moreover, the motorglider pilot is not concerned about the possibility of an off-field landing when soaring conditions diminish.

  The Ximango was designed by famed French designer Rene Fornier whose name became familiar in this country with the introduction of his Volkswagen-powered Fornier motorgliders in the 1960s. (Mira Slovak flew one from West Germany to California.)

  The Brazilian Super Ximango competed against an offering from Diamond Aircraft of Canada. After evaluation tests were performed by test pilots from Edwards Air Force Base, the Ximango was chosen to replace the Air Force Academy’s aging fleet of Schweizer TG-7s. The last of 14 Ximangos (TG-14As) were delivered to the academy last July, and 35 others have thus far been sold to civilian customers in the United States.

  The airframe is an all-composite structure made from Ciba-Geigy resins and fibers and is finished in polyurethane. This, along with the tightly cowled engine, contributes to the aircraft’s sleek appearance. The spar caps are carbon-fiber.

  The 58-foot-long wings fold like those found on carrier-based Naval aircraft. This results in a reduced span of only 33.4 feet that allows the Ximango to fit in a small T hangar. One person can fold or unfold the wings in about 5 minutes, but it is easier with a helper. The wings lock into place by moving a sturdy lever aft until it snaps into position. Wing fairings are then placed over the mechanisms but cannot be attached unless the wing-locking lever is properly positioned, thus ensuring that the wings are secure. The system is simple and foolproof.

  Most power pilots need a little time to get used to the semi-supine seats and typically tend to lean forward when taxiing. Just lie back and relax, and you will find them to be extraordinarily comfortable. Although the seats are not adjustable, the rudder pedals can be moved fore and aft, thus accommodating tall pilots. The Ximango’s body, however, is not wide enough to comfortably accommodate a pair of wide bodies without some shoulder rubbing.