Taildragger

     In days of old, before my time, almost all airplanes had a “conventional landing gear”.  That is, they sat on their main wheels with their tail down, resting on a small tail wheel or tailskid.  The airplane’s nose sat high, as if looking into the sky.  Thus also the wing was angled up and began to generate lift as soon as air began to flow over it.  As the airplane accelerated down the runway in its takeoff roll, the wing took more and more of the airplane’s weight off of the landing gear, which was good for both the airplane and the landing gear, especially if the field was rough.  If the field was soft, grass, mud, and/or snow covered, the lift decreased the drag of the wheels so that the airplane could accelerate to flying speed.

     In the first half-century of flying few runways were hard surfaced.  Most were grass or dirt, some were just open fields with a wind sock.  And there were a variety of reasons for off-field landings, whether forced, precautionary, or routine.  Off-field landings could be occasioned by weather (there was much less information, much harder to obtain), by low fuel (fewer airports – but airplanes could burn car gasoline), being lost (far less efficient means of navigation), engine failure or other mechanical problem (much more prevalent back then), and other reasons such as barnstorming.  For these reasons and more (including the weight, cost, and windage (drag) of a nose wheel), conventional landing gear was the way to go.

     But a Taildragger has disadvantages as well.  While operating on the ground, the pilot’s visibility ahead, over the nose, is restricted or even obscured.  And a taildragger has the center of gravity behind the main wheels.  Therefore, on landing the CG is pushing the wheels down the runway, whereas a tricycle gear airplane has the CG forward of the main wheels pulling the airplane down the runway.  A tricycle gear airplane wants to go straight when it touches down.  A taildragger becomes directionally unstable at touchdown.  When a taildragger deviates from straight, it tries to deviate more.  If it deviates beyond the pilot’s control, the airplane does a “ground loop”, a tight turn in the direction to which control was lost, which often wrecks the airplane.  Taildragger pilots have a joke:  “When a tricycle gear airplane touches down, the landing is over.  When a taildragger touches down, the landing begins.”

     By my era in aviation, 1964-1984, most municipal airports had a hard surfaced runway.  And there were more airports – about 6,000 in the US.  Weather information and navigation equipment were much better.  For most pilots, the only reason for an off-field landing was an engine failure – and airplane engines had become very reliable.  The need for rough and soft field capabilities for the general flying public became minimal.  So the industry began to switch from ”conventional gear” airplanes to tricycle landing gear, which made takeoffs and landings easier, therefore safer.  Piper advertised that if you could drive a car, you could fly an airplane.  (It should be noted, however, that there are some very important differences.)

     By my day, flying a tail wheel airplane had become a specialty skill.  There was no special license for conventional landing gear (after all, it was “conventional”) but insurance companies typically required ten hours of dual instruction for pilots not having significant tail wheel experience.

     Conventional gear still had its niche, such as bush flying, glider towing, a farmer who had a dirt strip out by the barn, and for aerobatic airplanes.  And if you could handle the takeoffs and landings, it was equal to other planes for regular use.  Plus there were pilots who thought of the extra challenge as the best of it, takeoffs and landings being among the most fun things about flying.

     Taildraggers vary quite a lot in degree of difficulty.  Some are known as very difficult, some as fairly docile.  Most taildraggers notorious for ground loops are out of the past, with numbers that tend to diminish, sometimes to extinction.  But trust me, even a docile taildragger can ground loop.

     Here is an example somewhere around midrange, a Cessna 190, which is also a Cessna 195 depending on its factory engine.  Either was powered by a big, round, seven-cylinder radial engine.  On the ground in a nose high, three-point attitude, visibility over the nose was totally obscured.  You saw only sky.  While the tail was low during takeoff or landing, visual reference to keep the nose pointed straight down the runway was from beside the nose.  That was the first level of difficulty.

     The second level of difficulty was the handling qualities of the particular kind of taildragger throughout a range of airspeed, nose attitude, and power combinations, compounded by whatever crosswind or gustiness there was.  To pilots of earlier taildraggers, the Cessna 190/195 was pretty tame.  To pilots used to modern taildraggers, excluding such airplanes as, say, the Pitts Special, the 190/195 was more exacting.  The AOPA recommends a check out by an instructor who knows the airplane.  I checked myself out, I didn’t know any better.  Besides, I’d been a taildragger pilot nearly from the start.

     The Cessna 190 and 195 were in production from 1947 to 1954.  It was Cessna’s last radial engine taildragger, succeeded by the Cessna 180, a taildragger with a flat, horizontally opposed engine, thus smaller, sleeker, lighter, and more economical.  The 180 could be as tricky on landing but had much better visibility over the nose.

     The Cessna 190/195 was a big airplane, empty weight over a ton.  Its big, round engine determined the size of its fuselage.  The cabin couldn’t be as cramped as its successors’ cabins could be. The 190 had a Jacobs or Continental radial engine.  The 195 had a bigger engine, a 300 HP Jacobs, fondly known as a “Shaky Jake”.

     Many of these airplanes got re-fitted with bigger engines.  A 450 HP Pratt & Whitney on a C-190 used as a jump plane for skydivers is the biggest I encountered.  N1572D, the Cessna 190 that my mind is now about to fly, carries a turbocharged 350 HP Jacobs radial, 17 percent stronger than a factory 195.  Roughly half of an airplane’s factory power is used to keep it aloft, the other half is performance – acceleration, rate of climb and cruise speed.  So 72 Delta had a third again more performance power.  Moreover, a non-turbocharged engine loses ten to fifteen percent due to the thinner air at Boulder’s field elevation.  72 Delta will give us sea level power right up to altitude.  We could turn her west towards the Continental Divide and climb straight over with thousands of feet to spare.  And I have flown her over the mountains.  But mountain flying is more interesting in airplanes with less performance, using strategies instead of power.  Taildraggers are for takeoffs and landings.

 

 

     N1572 Delta.  In the only photo I have of her she sits three-point on the ramp, nose high, tied down, waiting.  Her big, long, cantilever wing spreads beyond the photo’s frame.  The horizon bisects her fuselage, sky above, ground below.  Her pilot would be sitting above the horizon, already well off the ground.

     We are viewing from where a line attendant would stand while directing her out, where the pilot could best see us, half a wingspan in front of the left wingtip.

     She is painted white with yellow, black accents, tasteful and attractive, with a necklace of black ovals around her big, round nose, bulges in the engine cowling where her Jacobs needs just a bit more room for his valve rockers.  Look at all the gentle curves adjoining her stout fuselage, her bulbous spinnaker, the circular ducting of Jake’s cowling, the opening curve of the wing’s leading edge.  Her tail feathers, the stabilizers and control surfaces of her empennage, are rounded in the old fashion, as are her wingtips and propeller tips.  She sits tall, nose high in a wide stance atop a long, spindly spring-steel landing gear (one of Cessna’s best design features).  The tires on which she rests are modestly shrouded in softly curved wheel fairings, beneath which only a peek of her tires can be seen.  The windshield, nearly horizontal as she sits, stretches from aft of her firewall well into the wing, becoming the leading edge where the wing spans the cabin.  She has the huge N-numbers of old on the bottom of her left wing and on top of her right wing.  She wears her age with pride and looks as good now as she did then.

     She is undeniably beautiful.  “Seven Two Delta.”  Just listen to her N-number roll off of my tongue.

     She is tied down and shut down.  Her cockpit is vacant.  We may safely approach.

     Bear with me if you will.

     Run your fingers lightly down the leading edge of her propeller, the blade that you can reach.  Smooth, no nicks, unblemished.  She carries her prop high.

     Let’s pull her through.  I’ve confirmed “switches off”, we don’t want to wake Jake yet.  Pull the prop through its arc nice and easy, feel the resistance of each of the seven cylinders as it comes up on its compression stroke.  Her radial is a low compression engine but each of her big cylinders has a displacement of over a hundred cubic inches.  Pull her through four blades to feel them all, then another four blades for good measure.

     Look her over, check her out.  She’s a clean machine.  Take a look at her belly.  Being a radial, Jake does burn some oil.  But he doesn’t leak a drop.  72 Delta has a particular mechanic who knows her inner secrets well.

     72 Delta and her Jacobs are a couple, airframe and engine.  She does the flying.  He does the thrust.  The pilot (gender neutral or maybe bi – I’m fond of them both) makes it a threesome.

     Jake’s oil is topped up, five gallons, twenty quarts.  And I’ve checked the fuel.  Let’s give her “once around the patch”.

     Step around the wide landing gear, under her high wing, and back to her cabin door, a third of the way down her right side, still high off the ground.  When you open the door a step extends to help you aboard.  Many sister ships have had this replaced with a fixed step.  Not 72 Delta.  Climb up into the cabin then up forward, under the wing spar and through the wide gap between the pilot seats, into the cockpit.  I’ll take left seat.  I can handle her from either side, but this is my flight and since most of my flying is right seat as an instructor there is novelty in flying left seat… there is novelty in flying….

     Slide your seat up among the controls to where your feet can push full rudder with your toes stretching to reach the brakes.  Then heels back on the floor – stay off of the brakes.  We are connected by the control yoke, a column rising from the center of the cockpit floor and branching into a “Y”, ending in your control wheel in your right hand and my control wheel in my left hand.  Follow through on the controls, but I’ll do the flying.

     Square yourself in the seat and sight over your control wheel to a spot on her nose directly in front of you, a line of directional reference – just as you do with a tricycle gear airplane.  Except in this case we will see only sky, not the ground in front of us.  For most of the time that directional control will be crucial during the takeoff and landing our directional reference will be a line parallel to this line, off to the side where we can see the ground, a line imagined to be parallel to the airplane’s longitudinal axis and kept parallel to the runway’s centerline.

     Let’s get this show rolling.  Pre-start checklist includes prime, several long strokes (not the one or two short, wimpy strokes you give those little flat engines).  Bring the long propeller control all the way back to low RPM so the oil pump can pressure up the engine before it has to deal with the propeller.

     “Clear Prop!” loud and clear out the small window, pause for a response.

     The starter spins up and the long prop begins to turn, thung…, thung., thung, three or four blades, then switches on, “contact!”  The engine bursts to life with a cloud of smoke and a rumble of throttled power.  72 Delta comes lightly alive, pulsing to the rhythm of her Shaky Jake.  Engine oil pressure comes up then the prop control is eased all the way in to pressurize the propeller’s hub.

     A little throttle to start her rolling, brake check, then idle back, scanning both sides of the nose to clear the ramp ahead as we turn towards the taxiway.  Long easy s-turns down the taxiway to clear the way then a turn into the wind for the pre-takeoff checks.

     Engine run-up is at what a flat engine would call a high idle.  We can feel and hear a hint of Jake’s power, but we’re just checking his systems.  Exercise the prop a couple of times, pumping warm oil into the hub, then idle back.  We don’t want to get Jake too hot.  His cooling depends on airspeed.

     Final check, list review, traffic.  A wide, slow, 270-degree turn away from the runway to check the sky.  Here the aircraft’s visibility excels, you can see the sky just fine.  No traffic on base leg or final approach.

     Rolling towards the runway, “Cessna 72 Delta departing Boulder Zero Eight.”  No tower, no permission required, my call.

     I’m bringing in a little throttle rolling onto the runway in a turn that flattens out as we come astride the centerline (some taildragger pilots prefer to put the centerline beside them where they can see it), now bringing up serious power accompanied by right rudder to keep her straight, feeling the beginning of her acceleration as she starts down the runway, keeping her straight.  Jake is bellowing power.  Maximum RPM, manifold pressure still rising.  The elevator has come alive in my hand, airspeed is indicating and building.  Right rudder, more and less, keep her straight.

     The rudder work is as required, on a continuous basis, varying according to power, airspeed, and nose attitude, plus whatever crosswind or gustiness.  Superimposed on that is a small dance to correct any deviations from straight.

     Forward elevator to fly her tail wheel off the ground, to put her up on her wheels, accompanied by another little rudder dance.  Now we can almost see over the nose as she continues to charge for airspeed.

     She lifts lightly from the ground.  Elevator to keep her close, in ground effect as she continues to accelerate even though she’s already got everything she needs to start climbing.  The runway rushes by just beneath the wheels, briefly, then she has best climb speed.  I raise her nose and up we go, the ground suddenly falls away beneath us.  We could decrease power and increase to cruise-climb airspeed if I wasn’t showing her off.

     I fine-tune elevator and rudder trim for neutral control pressure, which leaves her with up elevator and plenty of right rudder.

     Up, up, into the Colorado sapphire blue, departing through the top of the traffic pattern, vertically, at best rate of climb.  She’s reaching for sky like a homesick angel.

     Approaching 7500 feet MSL, roughly two thousand feet above ground level, I begin to push the nose down, adjusting the trim wheels forward and left, reducing Jake’s manifold pressure and RPM to high cruise as her airspeed climbs to the top of the green arc.  I’m still showing her off.

     We’ve been airborne for less than two minutes.

     But the real fun is back at the airport.  And we’ve now got excess altitude and airspeed to get rid of.  So, throttle back to low cruise, a shallow dive away from the airport with airspeed still at the top of the green arc, down to pattern altitude, pick up a wing to clear for traffic, then a turn back towards the airport, leaving her power low as she bleeds off airspeed.

     “Cessna 72 Delta approaching downwind, Boulder Zero Eight.”  I don’t have to tell them that we’re a big, overpowered, turbocharged airplane.  We can slow her down and fly the pattern right in there with regular airplanes.

     Pre-landing checklist, prop to go.  Airspeed is slow enough for half flaps, which keeps her nose down for better visibility.

     The visibility problem characteristic to a high wing airplane is above the wings, where traffic flying a higher altitude might be.  I begin to roll into a left turn to clear the sky under the right wing then roll into a right turn onto downwind leg, clearing under the left wing while it is high.  I roll her out on downwind at ninety mph.  (Miles per hour being what her old airspeed indicator is calibrated in.)  We could slow her more if necessary for spacing.

     Rolling out of the turn I see a need for some “crab” away from the runway.  We have a good crosswind.  The windsock confirms it, indicating fifteen knots blowing forty-five degrees to the runway.

     Key position – opposite the end of the runway, another reduction in power and airspeed, prop still to go.  A slight increase in crab for the crosswind as airspeed decreases, trimming her at eighty, 1.3 Vso, as I ease the nose down to a glide attitude.

     A roll right to clear base leg then a left turn onto base, full thirty degrees of bank, rolling out past level to confirm no traffic on the runway or short final, then right back into a left turn to final, overshooting runway heading to roll out crabbed into the crosswind.

     We’re on centerline and a little high, just right.  Gear down (I take a quick look at the landing gear on my side, maintaining a retractable-gear habit), prop high.  Full flaps, which lowers the nose some.

     Short final, over the fence, out of the crab and into a slip, slipping her into the wind to keep from drifting across the runway, opposite rudder to keep her nose straight, parallel to the centerline – keep her straight.  Heels on the floor, toes well away from the brakes.

     Field made, gear down, I’m leaving in a tickle of throttle to give me more time with the crosswind.  Nose straight.

     Over the runway threshold, increasing the slip as airspeed decays, aileron to hold her positioned over the centerline, rudder to keep her straight, attempting to level off an inch above the ground, hands and feet primed for an additional set of moves the instant she touches.  Smooth and gentle moves if I get it right, if I stay ahead of her.  Quicker and as required if she starts to get ahead of me.

     The left main touches at nearly zero vertical speed and I’m Johnny-on-the-spot easing in forward elevator to maintain her attitude, increasing right rudder to counter the drag of her left wheel on the runway, easing the rate that I’m feeding aileron into the crosswind to lower and land her right wheel.  It touches lightly.  Throttle closed.  So far this is a very good landing – wish I could do it every time.

     Now to fly the tail down by adjusting the rate at which I’m adding forward elevator as she slows.  A little dance on the rudders as the airflow changes over the empennage.  A slight bump as the tail wheel touches, mostly felt in the rudder pedals now that the tail wheel is steering too – back elevator to plant it.  Still increasing aileron into the crosswind, rudder as necessary, letting her slow from a high-speed rollout down to a high speed taxi.  It’s all directional control now – unless it’s gusty – keeping her straight down the centerline pointed at the far end of the runway, neither of which can be seen – Jake’s hogging the view.  Our turnoff is to the right, so I won’t see it until we get there.

     Then an easy taxi back to the ramp in long s-turns, back to her tie down – I won’t try to top that landing.  That was a “wheel landing”.  Maybe after some solo practice I’ll show you a “perfect three-point landing”, a taildragger’s low speed landing in which it runs out of flying airspeed and altitude at the moment of touchdown already in its nose high attitude.

     But perhaps the most sublime of a taildragger’s movements is the three point takeoff, accelerating down the runway in its taxi attitude, lifting off at a low airspeed that is supplemented by prop-wash, a minimum speed lift off, after which one may fly just clear of the runway in ground effect to get best climb speed or, if the pilot trusts the engine and has a steady wind, may continue to rise as airspeed builds more slowly.  But the best “three point take off” is actually with the tail wheel a few inches in the air, a soft field take off.

     The basic flying of the traffic pattern including the crab for the crosswind and the transition from a crab to a slip to control drift while keeping the nose straight (initiated on final approach, usually during the landing flair, sometimes just prior to touchdown), was normal fare in all of the airplanes I flew. 

 

But like the joke says, in a taildragger the landing begins at touchdown. 

 

©  Jim Hutchinson