Ned Gravel

Our plan is for us to fly our E model in on the 23rd with our friends along in their C model - both '65's. Already bought the tickets to the Mooney Caravan BBQ.

Jeff: I fly an E model with the doghouse so this may not apply to you, but I think it may anyway. Before my overhaul last year, I was getting 380 plus on number 4, the furthest away from the nose. After the overhaul, my MSE re-created baffling to replace the cracked and busted up stuff I had before. Now I typically have between 300 and 350 on the hottest days. The condition and repair of the baffling has a major influence on your CHTs. IMO.

My own approach is the same as mentioned by dmevans too. Only difference is my setting is for 1200 rpm instead of 1000.

I agree with George: The procedural tricks will make life easier and you can learn what they are from the threads I posted as well as the set provided by dmevans. But that Skytec can make up for all of our shortcomings.

Ryan: Someone on this site asked this same question a while ago. Here is the discussion. http://www.mooneyspace.com/index.cfm?mainaction=posts&forumid=3&threadid=1070

Ryan: Don't beat yourself up too much. This topic has been done twice on Mooneyspace and you will be surprised at the similarities and differences in the methods used by the more experienced folks. Here are the two threads - good hunting. http://www.mooneyspace.com/index.cfm?mainaction=posts&forumid=2&threadid=211 http://www.mooneyspace.com/index.cfm?mainaction=posts&forumid=1&threadid=917

Do you know if the rear spar repair was the result of damage, or of the SB to put in the doubler to repair cracks caused by flap use above the white arc?

I made my own. Kneeboard size pages which are 8.5 X 11 turned sideways and booklet style. Printed both sides and stapled. I am on version 7 in the five years I have owned my Mooney. Addition of things like SPOT, JPI etc always resulted in one change or another. I can e-mail mine to you, but it really is specific to C-FSWR.

I will not fly a route at night if there is any forecast of ACC, TCU or CB along the intended route of flight. I have neither a stormscope nor XM. I may consider modifying my personal minima after I get BOTH of those installed. One is for current tactical situational awareness (stormscope) and the other is for developing and maintaining options in flight to offset poor pre-flight planning (XM weather).

Philip: We all wish you a safe return home.

I received permission from the author to post it here. It is posted on the aviating dot com site for Mooney drivers in four (4) parts. I am going to put them all into this one post. Wish me luck. It opens with a comment from Mike Elliot: Three days ago, a newly minted IFR student of mine emailed me, Michael Baraz and a friend of his, Jay Ledbetter and asked us how the heck he was supposed to hold altitude getting banged around like a ping pong ball in cum. clouds. His training exposed him to some of that, but he had his safety valve, me, sitting next to him so it never occured to him to think that he may bust altitude, as I wouldnt let him let it get that far out of bounds before I would tap on his altimeter or ask him if he was decending to land etc. Now in real life, single pilot IFR, he decided to ask the three of us this question. What resulted was a terrific exchange between him, Michael, myself and Jay. Jays response was so good, Michael and I both encouraged him to develope it further into an article. Here is what Jay has come up with. I hope you enjoy it as much and find it as valuable as I do. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- What I Wish Somebody Had Told Me --- Advice to New Instrument-Rated Pilots By Jay Ledbetter June, 2010 When we were learning to be Private Pilots, we all learned a little about instrument flight…precious little. I remember quite vividly, back in 1967 as a hopeful pilot-to-be, how it all began. My instructor was a retired Air Force bomber pilot, and he taught me as he was taught. A lowly Piper 140 was not worthy to sit alongside a B-47, but he taught me to fly it as if it were the same plane. Almost every day, I would meet him in his cramped little office at the little uncontrolled airport in Artesia, New Mexico. I would plop down on the other side of his desk, dropping my little logbook in front of me onto the top of the old olive-drab WWII office desk, and smile. He would smile back, and offer a greeting and his big hand. He was a great guy. We began the lesson, as we did each time, with a short “here is what we are going to do today” session. His eyes sparkled, and his quick smile changed the pattern of the freckles on his cheeks as on this day he described in lofty terms the intricacies of instrument flight. To him, he was describing an intimate relationship that he had cultivated over the years, as if he were lovingly polishing an antique car he had personally restored. From my side of the desk, he might as well have been describing the precise method by which one fastens the left-handed fribberjabit onto the frenambulator assembly. I paid attention, and I tried to visualize what he was saying, but sadly… I didn’t get it. No pilot ever does, until you do it. I guess that is why the FAA forces you to actually fly the plane with reference to instruments alone. You can’t study your way to proficiency with regards to learning instrument flight. “Ready to go?” he asked (it was his usual question, and a signal that the talk-through session was at an end) as he stood from the old swivel chair that had been rescued from an Army-Navy store in town. I never answered. I was still trying to visualize the bolt that held the fribberjabit in place. It didn’t matter, though, because he was already well past me, on the way to the door. An affirmative answer on my part was assumed. For me, the concept of being “ready”, was a somewhat fluid concept. It occupied a wide range of conditions from “are you kidding?” to “sure, let’s go do this.” Today I was somewhere closer to the left side of the scale. Either way, we were headed out the door, and it would be unspeakably awkward for me not to follow. As he passed the filing cabinet in the corner of the office, he snatched off its top a large bulky white plastic bent thingy that I had not noticed before. I wondered what he might be planning to do with that weird device. It lacked a long handle, so would not serve well to scoop out any significant volume of the candy wrappers that were accumulating to an alarming depth in the rear footwell of the little Piper. He ate a lot of candy. He told me it settled his nerves. Today, his pockets bulged with a bit more than his normal supply. After the preflight, he kept the curious device in his lap through start-up and taxi. After a careful analysis of its design and position, I concluded that he intended to use this device as a shield to protect his nether regions from further damage by some of the debris that would circulate around the cabin in truncated arcs as I practiced stall recoveries. One of the most important things I learned about stall recoveries is that if you push the yoke forward quickly enough at the beginning of a stall, you can enter that zero-G or even negative-G zone where all the loose things (both light and heavy) in the cabin arrange themselves randomly on the ceiling, and then fall back briskly into new and exciting locations as you pull the yoke back again to bring the plane into the 1+ G range. Stall recoveries scared me… and despite all his training and combat missions flown over enemy territory, my stall recoveries also scared him. Sometimes one or both of us would involuntarily let a bad word escape to join the rubble which was moving up and down in the cabin generally tracing in the air the letter “M”. I would still be flying the plane, though - not because I had great aviation skills, but more as the result of physiological factors. With that degree of terror it is simply impossible to let go of the controls. When your hands are on the controls, you are the pilot, like it or not. We took off, and headed to the practice area (which generally occupied most of the south-eastern corner of New Mexico). After he finished sweeping a number of displaced candy wrappers off the top of the glare shield with his hand, he handed me the strange device and said “I’ve got the airplane. Put this on.” I thought this act expressed the greatest level of self-sacrifice I had ever witnessed to date. No wonder he was a military hero. Deep emotions welled up, and I have to admit that I teared-up just a little as I placed the device in my own lap. Its light weight still was still sufficient to remind me how tender my bruised lap was from repeatedly testing the upward limits of the seat belt system in previous days. I would be protected from injury and he would leave himself exposed. What a guy. “No, you put it on your head.” He instructed. The look on my face must have been as effective as a radio transmission in telling him what I was thinking. I was weighing the relative values of my brain, and my… when he quickly snatched the device from its resting place and after adjusting a head strap, placed it firmly on my head. He adjusted the white plastic shield into a position where it took the position of a grossly outsized baseball cap’s visor. Two things occurred to me, somewhat simultaneously, at this time. First of all, I couldn’t see outside the plane. Secondly, since he was adjusting this device onto my head with both hands, nobody was flying the plane. Both of those realities left me in a panic as I said, “I really can’t see, now.” “Good.” He responded, “Now, fly the plane using what you can see.” For the next few lessons, I did what you, and every other new pilot, has done. But I will bet you got to use those new-fangled foggles. What an improvement those are. They hardly hurt at all when they fall off the ceiling. Our vision thus encumbered, we all learned to fly rudimentary maneuvers solely on the instruments we saw before us on the panel. Up to that point I thought that an “unusual attitude” was when Granddad interrupted with laughter the most tearful moment of a Gretta Garbo movie. As part of our private pilot instrument training, we all learned that when our bodies are lying to us, the instruments are telling us the truth. We learned to do an immediate course reversal and immediately get out of inadvertent flight into instrument meteorological conditions. But at some point, we have all wanted to take the next step – to get an instrument rating to open up for us far greater flying environments. Then, we spent hours and hours looking at nothing but the instruments. We found ourselves flying intentionally into IMC conditions, and learning to see the insides of clouds (which don’t give very much attitude information), and watch little streaks of condensation form on our windscreens. It was all so new… and so scary. But it was the threshold of another level of flying skill. Soon, our visual flight was limited to taking off, and that last minute or two on final approach as we reached the decision altitude. We learned that on occasion the instruments can lie to us, and you have to do a type of lie-detector exercise to see which one it is. Then you have to identify the lying instrument for what it is, and block it from view (lest you inadvertently rely on it). I remember the day I finally got my instrument ticket, and was able to get my head “out of the cockpit” once again. It was surreal. I could see! I had to learn how to fly visually all over again, and how to balance that with instrument-only flight as the flight conditions changed. I am sure you experienced much of what I did, with varying degrees of bad words released into the air. But the end result was always the same… an instrument rating, with or without a trashcan full of candy wrappers. Instructors, especially instrument instructors, have huge volumes of information inside their heads. They try to cram inside our heads sufficient information to prepare us for the three phases of our instrument exams – the written, the oral, and finally the practical flying phase. They do a great job in helping us get past those hurdles, which appear as snowcapped mountains on our horizons as we begin the daunting task of obtaining our instrument rating. Then that magical day arrives and we finally convince the examiner that we are worthy of his blessing. A few keystrokes in the computer, and we are now “certified”. We, as newly-rated instrument pilots learn much more than the “basics” needed to pass the exams, but the sad truth is that most of us who finally have earned that coveted rating don’t spend the next fifty hours flying with our instructors – so we can progress from the “masters” level to the “doctorate” level of instrument flying. That is probably because we, as students, are reluctant to keep paying for further flying lessons. But I am fairly sure that the instructors are equally happy to have a break, so they can take some quiet time to get their hands to stop trembling once again. After a few group therapy sessions, they will be ready for their next student. A new instrument-rated pilot needs to progress quickly past the entry level of instrument flight, because if we don’t progress to the next levels we risk not only our lives but the lives of those trusting souls who ride along with us into the blue… or worse, into the gray. It is my position that when you first put your new license into your wallet, with that coveted “Instrument” word imprinted on the back, you are finally ready to really learn. I call an “instrument ticket” a “learner’s permit”. An instrument rating is a statement by your instructor, ratified by the FAA’s designated pilot examiner, that you have progressed to the threshold level of competence to allow you to fly in instrument meteorological conditions (when current). Becoming proficient at a level to allow you to be truly safe, is at a yet higher level. Get to that competence level, and do it with purpose. So, you now have an instrument ticket, and are flying on IFR flight plans and occasionally encounter IMC. Great. Now you are getting some real experience! That empty right seat serves as a constant reminder that you are the PIC, and that you are in charge of all the decisions – both good and bad – that will shape every flight. I have learned a lot since I began single-pilot IFR flying. I have learned a lot of it the hard way. I am writing this to you, in order to give you a few lessons I wish someone had given me, early on. You have some skills, and are demonstrably competent in IFR flight. But maybe a few pointers I will give you now will find their way into your bag of tricks, and might save you some trouble later on. I wish someone had written this information for me when I was in your place. So, I will do this for you. Someday, you might consider doing this for someone else. You may grow to love the IFR flight environment as much as I do. I never fly VFR unless on a short currency flight, check-outs, or taking people sightseeing and such. I suspect you now are really appreciating the safety and security of IFR flight. But with that IFR ticket comes another challenge... flying IFR also allows you to get yourself into much more dangerous situations much more quickly. Recognizing those before they envelope you, and avoiding them, is the key. Let's talk about clouds, and turbulence. And let's talk about some of the finer points of IFR flight involving clouds and such. Turbulence, especially in IMC, will focus your instrument scan like a laser. Stay on top of it, but don't be too aggressive. Gradually correct for altitude excursions, because updrafts are almost always coupled with downdrafts, which net closer to zero. When everything settles down, take stock of where you have gone, and get back to where you need to be... gently. If you are in moderate turbulence, where control of the aircraft is somewhat "iffy", then do tell the controller. As far as getting IFR approaches, don't expect a lot during the summer time of year. Every year I must fly with a safety pilot to stay current. Normally I get a lot of approaches, but I don't get any holds. Keep track on your personal calendar and in your logbook of your currency. Calendar your next currency expiration date, and plan some currency flights before you expire. There is always an instrument-rated pilot out there who has the same problem as you do, and who will be happy to fly as the safety pilot with you, as you will with him. If not, then call your instructor and ask him to give you some additional training which will culminate in currency. By that time his bad dreams will have diminished, and his hands steadied. He will be happy again to fly with you. Instructors are smart, but all have short memories. Put your instructor’s phone number in your phone. I have called my instructor from all over the country, to help me think-through situations, and help my decision-making when I lacked confidence. It is much better to call your instructor to confirm a good decision you have considered than to avoid making the call that could save you from a bad decision. With an abundance of counsel, there is wisdom. I love cloud flying. As you well know, clouds are different from one another. Stratus (stable air) clouds create huge areas of poor visibility (hence IFR), but little or no turbulence. You will see a lot of that in the fall and winter. There can be little puffy cumulous (cotton balls) and those don't really count. But most cumulous (unstable air) clouds are generally isolated from one another (unless they are combining into a squall), and have clear skies between. The warmer weather of late spring and summer brings this type of cumulous clouds. Cumulous clouds are full of bumps (and bruises) because they are developing vertically. The interior segments of cumulous clouds are always churning, hence lots of turbulence. Some of that turbulence will be reminiscent of some of my more spectacular stall recoveries. All developing cumulous clouds have a flat bottom. That bottom represents the level at which the updrafts from below hit a level where the moisture becomes visible. That is the dewpoint level. You can use that level as a very general guide regarding where you will find calmer air. For reasons I do not fully understand, when you fly into the airmass above the bottoms of cumulous clouds, the air is smoother. So, they give you a little-smoother-altitude guide in the sky. Flying below vertically developing cumulous formations will be bumpy too. Remember that there is as much air movement going on below the dewpoint level as there is above it. Gliders get under developing cumulous clouds to take advantage of the updrafts and gain altitude. I have seen a parachutist become caught in a cumulous cloud updraft and carried higher and higher - even though he desperately wanted to get to the ground. If you see a rain shaft coming from the bottom of a generous cumulous cloud, you might want to avoid it to the degree you can. If you can see through the rain shaft easily (not heavy rain), then use caution if you need to fly through it. If you can't see through it - avoid it altogether. Rain is an air pump, and creates some amazing downdrafts. Besides, rain and lightning often are seen together. Rain is not always your enemy. You can land in the rain, and I have done it a bunch of times. The rain that comes from stratus clouds is widespread and gentle. But some rain can be very dangerous. Cumulous clouds, in their dissipation stage, form concentrated rain shafts. Avoid landing through a heavy rain shaft. Remember that the air that is swept downward in that shaft must go somewhere. Envision pouring water on the porch. The water hits the porch, then it jets out very fast to all sides. That is what the air does too. When it hits the ground, it spreads out in all directions. Have you ever been near a rain shaft and felt a rush of cold air from its direction? That is called a "gust front" by the non-pilots. Pilots know that is an indication of some amazing low-level wind shear, and its effect on flying aircraft can be deadly. As you fly an approach toward a rain shaft near the ground, you may see a quick spike in airspeed, followed by a decrease in groundspeed. You have just flown into the gust front. The plane actually flies a little better, if slower. The tendency is to reduce power to continue the decent. That will play into the problem, later. Then you enter the part of the downdraft that is pretty vertical. Now you need to apply a lot of power and some nose-up pitch to maintain altitude. You might lose a little airspeed as you do so. That multiplies the danger. What comes next is what can kill you. As you fly to the other side of the downdraft, the direction of the wind switches to behind you. Your airspeed drops dramatically, and if you are at Vso+10, you just might stall... with no chance to recover before you plant it in the field. That is precisely what happened when Delta Air Lines flight 191 flew into such conditions on the afternoon of August 2, 1985, while on final approach to KDFW. Miraculously, three of eleven aircrew survived, as did twenty-six of one hundred fifty-two passengers. We all learned a hard lesson that day. This event led to a number of improvements in the sensor arrays around major airports, and some helpful safety briefings. But the sad truth is that pilots still kill themselves, and others, by ignoring these lessons. If you must penetrate a rain shaft of any density at pattern altitude or lower, remember to carry some extra speed to compensate for these effects. I would suggest you break-off an approach if you must pass through a rain shaft that you cannot see through. I remember clearly one night landing some years ago, when I was carrying passengers back from Montana to Denver Centennial. We had been in IMC almost the entire trip, and we were in and out of snow and rain storms as we decended into the Denver class B. The ATIS told me that at Centennial, there was rain in the vicinity, but current visibility was three miles and the ceiling was better than a thousand feet. It was the culmination of hours of high-intensity flying, and as I was being vectored for the ILS 35R approach, the city lights illuminated the flat bottom of a dark cloud over the approach end to 35R. A rain shaft decended from the base of the cloud directly across my approach path. I turned to final at the FAF (CASI), dropped the gear and flaps, and adjusted the propeller and manifold pressure to the right “numbers” for a ninety-knot decent. I kept my eye on the rain shaft and the runway lights. I could always see the lights through the rain, and so continued. By the time I got halfway to the runway, the rain shaft had dissipated, and moved off to the west of the flight path. So, I continued the approach. The landing was uneventful, but I kept my hand on the throttle and carried a little extra speed just to be certain that there was no wind shear coming off the shaft that might affect the safety of the flight. I was on high alert. These are things you learn by experience… or from stories like these from an old pilot. Cumulous clouds with a grey bottom are ok. They have some turbulence, but it is generally not bad. If you have the choice, the upper levels of the smaller cumulous clouds are generally safer and smoother than the lower levels. If the cloud has a black bottom, that means it is pretty large, and is developing pretty mean guts. You can still fly shallowly through the edges (with great caution), but I do what I can to avoid those. Turbulence can extend away from the edge of the cloud in some of the larger ones. If you see rain coming from the bottom, then that is a sign that there will be really bad stuff going on inside. The rain-induced air pump extends to some altitude within the cloud. If you eyeball-estimate the cumulous cloud ahead is more than a half-mile across, then begin to use higher caution. Those are getting big enough to have some heavy turbulence inside. If it is more than a mile across, and has a black bottom, then I would suggest you find a way around it. When they are this big, they get dangerous. Remember that flying just under such a cloud is not much safer than flying through it. Remember, there is no cumulous cloud that does not carry with it some turbulence. The rule of thumb is that the bigger the cloud, the more severe the turbulence. Some of the very big cumulous clouds have a green cast to the underside. If you see that, stay well away. That color always means hail. It can also mean incipient tornado development. Hail is lifted high into the cloud by the most amazing updrafts. An updraft that can lift a ball of ice, can lift your airplane like a leaf. Hail sometimes works its way high enough to be swept to the side of the cloud by upper level winds, and then it falls free of the cloud at distances up to twenty miles from the cloud column itself. Be particularly wary under the "anvil", because this is the way the upper level winds are blowing from the storm, and hail can be present (and invisible) in this area. You can encounter some surprise icing in cumulous clouds. Remember that the interior of clouds is substantially cooler than the air temperature elsewhere. As you fly toward, and then into, a cloud, you can open the vent and use the back of your hand within the wind stream inside the cabin to see what I mean. It is an amazing change in temperature. Rain can be lifted very high inside the cloud to the colder areas of the atmosphere, cooled almost to freezing, and then fall back through the cloud to impact your airplane without gaining much warming in the descent. When you fly through some of the larger cumulous clouds, be watching for icing as well. I always turn on my pitot heat before penetrating any cloud at any altitude. I turn on the other anti-icing equipment before penetrating clouds when I see the OAT outside the clouds is within ten degrees of freezing. If you do pick up a little ice inside cumulous clouds, on the other side of the cloud as you enter warmer air, it will usually sublimate away. One of the most deadly conditions for pilots (especially those without weather radar info in the cockpit) is embedded thunderstorms. When there is widespread stratus, limiting visibility, then a few areas of vertical development can begin, and those can build into some pretty serious storms - all hidden from view by those nice gentle stratus clouds. The transition from smooth stratus clouds to developing cumulous clouds is gradual, and can be initially unnoticed until it is too late to avoid them. If you have a strike-finder, you can find those well-developed thunderstorms in the system, or you can use your ADF (set to a frequency not coinciding with a station) as a guide. With the ADF tuned, you will hear the pop and sizzle of the strike in the speaker, and the needle will point to the strike. If you can afford one of the new Garmin GPS systems which supports XM weather, you might want to get one and use it for weather awareness. The images are only a few minutes old, but give you very good information on what is going on ahead. They are expensive, but when compared to your life, they are cheap. In planes without XM weather or weather radar, I try to get above all the stratus layers, so I can see the pop-ups and avoid them if I need to. You can even see the cumulous developments from between layers. I have been able to do that as well. Don’t be lulled into a false sense of security because the clouds you are in are smooth, and you don’t see any developing storms. What you don’t know can hurt you. If you are in turbulence that is so robust that you can't hold altitude within a couple of hundred feet, then call the controller and tell them what is going on. You may wish to ask for a “block altitude” clearance. Even if they don't give you a block clearance, just knowing that you are having difficulty will often help them give you a modicum of grace on the altitude issue. Putting that particular information "on the record" by a radio call can also avoid them busting you officially on the altitude issue. Another important thing to remember in turbulence is to keep your wings level. I am aware of a Saratoga which lost a wing entirely (exceeded structural limits on airframe) by flying into a thunderstorm. He went into the storm with two, and came out with one on... and one off. The postmortem on the accident was published, and the consensus was that the pilot tried to correct for a strong updraft by pointing the nose at the ground and wound up exceeding Vne trying to stay at assigned altitude. The "book answer" is to keep your wings level, and accept altitude excursions. The book is right. Again, notify ATC when you are doing that, so they can understand what is going on with the reading on their screen. If it gets too bad, don't hesitate to ask for an immediate course reversal and get out of there. It's often better to go back to where you know the plane is flying well, than to take chances on what lies ahead. Finding out where the cloud tops are is great. PIREPS are helpful, so look at those on DUATS or ADDS. You can find some information on tops in the first paragraphs of the DUATS briefing. But tops are only useful for stratus layers. You will be unlikely to be able to get over any significant vertically-developing cumulous in a plane that is not turbocharged. When I can, I usually do get above all the clouds I can. At least I want to find a clear place between levels in stratus formations. With towering cumulous formations, they normally have some clear air space between them, and you can weave a little left and right between them without asking for clearance to do so. Just don't stray more than a quarter-mile or so from your flight-planned path. You might talk to the controller to tell him what you are doing, so he doesn't get confused by your weaving flight path across his scope. Maybe the best thing about IFR flight is that the good ATC guys will happily steer you around storms. It happens a couple of ways. First of all, remember that their new displays only give them Nexrad stuff. They don't get to see every cloud. Unless there is enough moving moisture in the cloud to generate a return signal, they can't see it. Also, some significant turbulence associated with moist air (not a cloud) is enough to create a green display as well. So, they have better, but limited, information on precipitation on their screens. A good controller will identify trouble ahead (maybe that you can't see), and suggest a route around it for you. You can take his advice, or if you can see better than he can what is ahead, you can suggest your own routing. They will generally approve your routing - since they know that you are the PIC, and supposedly have better visual info than they do. Or, if you see a buildup ahead, you can start doing some planning yourself. You can sometimes see which way the whole system is moving, and fly behind it. You can sometimes outrun the system by flying ahead of it. It is very common for pilots to request a course deviation to get around a buildup. You can do that by calling ATC and saying something like this sample radio traffic, "Denver Center, 56Echo, request course deviation twenty degrees to the south to avoid buildup ahead". The response is normally, "56Echo, deviation approved. Notify when back on course direct Centennial". When you have cleared the buildup, you can jink back to your original course, and then call ATC to tell them you are back to direct Centennial. This brings me to my next point... fuel. IFR flight over any reasonable distances rarely goes the way you plan it. I know the regulations about carrying enough fuel to make your destination plus forty-five minutes. I think that is much too aggressive. You can just bet on some ATC reroutings, forced altitude changes, and jinking around buildups in most every flight. The ATC's plan, rather than your plan, is what will prevail. I really hate to fly into that last hour of fuel. When I get a significant forced rerouting by ATC which extends my distances, I already begin looking for a place short of my destination with fuel where I can set her down. On one of my normal routes (between Denver Centennial and Durango) it is not uncommon for me to file for a more direct northern route, and wind up getting cleared for a dog-legged southern one, or visa versa. These routes are separated by half the state, and make thirty minutes difference in flying time. I have tried over and over to anticipate what they are going to do, to no avail. I think they must sit around at clearance, and say "How can we mess with Ledbetter today?" So, remember that extra fuel is your friend... unless you are on fire. Remember that HIWAS and other weather information is still available to you during IFR flight. If you have a second radio, you can tune in the information, and listen to both radios so you don’t miss some information, or a call. Sometimes I call Flight Watch to see what they are showing. You do that by telling the controller that you wish to leave the frequency in order to pick up weather information. Unless they are getting ready to hand you off to another controller, they will normally allow you to do that, and will instruct you to check-in with them within a few minutes. There is still not much cross-talk between the controllers and the weather guys. That is a problem without an easy solution. I find myself a quiet segment on my trips, and use those to take advantage of the weather briefings I can get from the other sources. Take advantage of other pilots ahead of you. As you talk to ATC, you may hear chatter with other planes of similar type ahead of you. They can give you lots of information. If you are experiencing some turbulence, or worried about icing, or such, you can ask ATC to inquire of the pilot ahead what is going on at his altitude and location. You will hear the report first-hand, or ATC will relay. I had one flight coming back to Centennial from Roswell (entirely in the clouds), where I had a Bonanza about 40 miles ahead of me on the same routing. I was often clear of clouds (barely), but my routing kept me mostly in a near-solid cloud bank where I had no real visibility to the side or above or below. I was picking up a trace of ice on occasion, and wanted to know whether I had a chance of breaking out of the clouds, or whether a change in altitude would make any difference. It looked to me that the clouds were closing in tighter, ahead. I did what I just suggested you do, and found out that he had just broken out of the clouds into clear skies forty miles ahead. I was able to relax, and follow him into the blue. As you know, airliners give regular ride reports. On occasion, ATC will want to know what your ride is as well. You can ask for ride reports ahead at your altitude as well, and other pilots will gladly report. Sometimes a change in altitude will make all the difference in the ride. You have probably already seen the layering effect of air. If you are in a lower airmass, and pass into a higher one, there will often be indicators of passage. Higher moisture in the lower layer - showing up as haze - will be a sign. Often, air masses don't move together, and the boundary between them is characterized by continuous turbulence (light chop, normally). Moving up a thousand feet will often get you out of the boundary chop layer. You can encounter these layers in solid IFR as well, so even though you think you are encountering turbulence solely based on clouds, you may be only experiencing turbulence at a boundary layer. ATC is normally happy to give you changes in altitude to avoid turbulence. You can ask for it, and the worst they will do is to refuse you until traffic clears, then they will grant your request. I did find myself in IMC coming back to Centennial from Sheridan, Wyoming one afternoon. I was given a westerly routing (again, not what I filed for). I climbed to get on top of a thick cloud layer, and was running just above the tops. It was beautiful, and a neat place to watch the sunset. But the cloud tops kept getting higher. I would ask for higher altitudes, a thousand feet at a time, as I flew south, to stay above them. Finally, I was reaching the point where the plane really didn’t want to fly well anymore (it was not turbocharged), and I was finding myself in the clouds more than out of them. I could see blue sky above, but couldn’t get to it. I also could get occasional glimpses of the cloud bottoms below, only a couple of thousand feet below. I was starting to pick up a little frost on the front of the wings. It was nothing that affected the flight of the aircraft, but it was not something I wanted to see continue. I determined to ask for lower. I got on the radio to Center and told them I was picking up some ice, and wished to have lower. I told them the target altitude I wanted. Center told me that my request was denied, because that altitude put me below the MEA at that location. I was over the mountains west of Cheyenne. The controller did give me a glimmer of hope. He told me that in a few miles he would pass me to Denver Center, and they would have the authority to give me lower. Immediately upon checking in with Denver Center, I asked for lower. I got it. Problem averted. The bottom line is that controllers don’t sometimes care if you are picking up ice. They figure you put yourself where you are (regardless of whether that is true or not), and if you are picking up ice that’s your problem. Then they lean back in their padded chair and take another sip of coffee from a mug that has “Air Traffic Controllers are gods” written on the side. Remember the old saying: “When the pilot makes a mistake, the pilot dies. When ATC makes a mistake, the pilot dies.” If you must, argue with them. I have done it, and finally embarrassed a controller into giving me what I needed at the time. Occasionally, the squeaky pilot gets the amended clearance. But there is some silver lining in that cloud of controllers. I have encountered a spectacularly helpful controller at Denver Center on the way back from Grand Junction one day. The MEA for my first leg of routing was 160. There was ice forecast at just higher than 170, all the way up to FL230. The bases of the clouds enroute (for half of the trip) was 16.8. I was flying eastward, so had to file for 170. I have seen icing forecasts be wrong (both in my favor, and against me), but just how to deal with the uncertainly in the system is something that comes only with a lot of IFR experience. Don’t push it at this stage in your flying. Anyway, back to the story. After being handed off to Center, the controller told me to climb and maintain 16.3. I had never previously gotten a clearance to other than an altitude that was one of the cardinal thousand feet levels. This flight-level-and-a-piece clearance put me between layers in clear skies, and ice-free. The controller had been paying attention to the pilots who were flying that route. He heard lots of reports of bottoms on the clouds, and was kind enough to keep me below them for the first leg of the trip. By the time I had to go to FL180 later in the trip to reach a higher MEA, I could punch through some thin layers and get back on top for the last leg across the front range. Without a very sensitive controller, thinking as a pilot, I might have had to fly at 170 initially, may have encountered sufficient ice to force me to turn around, and have wasted time and fuel on a futile trip. I hope you get lots of these kinds of guys. They are out there. If you know you have a pilot in a similar aircraft behind you on a similar routing, be courteous and give ride and weather conditions reports to the controllers. The guys behind you will appreciate the info. I recall flying southward along the front range to Roswell, and was listening to radio traffic between Center and a light aircraft which was on flight following. The pilot was near Pueblo, some fifty miles to the north of my position, and was trying to cross the mountains to the west and stay out of mountain obscuration. The mountains were pretty well socked-in all along the front range of Colorado. He had some silly desire not to encounter cumulo-granite as he passed to the west. The pilot was asking the controller if there was any clearing in the clouds (the bases of which were just below the peaks along the front range). Of course, I knew that the controller was unlikely to have that information. But I did have it. I got on the radio and volunteered some real-time information from my position. I told the controller that I saw no breaks from Denver south, but the cloud bases were lifting dramatically south of Raton, New Mexico, and it appeared that the VFR traffic could stay under the clouds, and clear of the granite, in that area. It was not the biggest deal to me, but it saved that VFR pilot a lot of time wondering whether he could go west or not. He was able to turn southward, then westward, and continue his trip. And the best advice I can give you... always drink your hot coffee from one of those high-quality travel cups with a secure lid. And close the little valve at all times other than when taking a sip. And if that cup might just start describing the letter “M” inside the cockpit, then you might want to keep one of those old-style hoods handy.

MIke Elliot posted a four part series on IFR and Cumulus on the Aviating.com Mooney List at: http://lists.aviating.com/mailman/private/mooney/2010-July/038350.html. It was written by Jay Ledbetter and is full of golden words of Wisdom. How can you tell if a cloud has hail in it from the outside? What is the difference between a black and a grey base of a cumulus cloud? Good article. Highly recommended.

I remember a BFR about four years ago where the instructor (knowing I was doing my IFR training) wanted me to stall it while in a climbing turn. Just the idea scared the **** out of me. The whole evolution turned out to be a near non-event. Port wing started to drop but the recovery prevented any further development of a spin. Lost only about 300'. Gained a lot of confidence trying that.

I agree with Carusoam. BFR is not just a box to tick, at least for me. It is an opportunity to have an experienced second set of eyes examine what I do and how I do it. Every one has provided me with a new tidbit of knowledge that sharpens one skill or another. Our responses to challenging situations give this critical examiner an idea of how we can do it better next time, or why an unforseen consideration should form part of our thinking processes. Sometimes, they (the instructors) learn from us. The last one included a discussion of the "in flight mag check" because the instructor had never experienced one before.

Alun: Carosoam is right about the previous work. See the pictures in the discussion thread: http://www.mooneyspace.com/index.cfm?mainaction=posts&forumid=1&threadid=1191 Wing skin (2 pieces) cost me about 400 quid ($700). The actual repair took two guys (with good knowledge) two days to remove the airleron, drill out the 50 or so rivets on the wing, put on the new bits, rivet them into place, and paint it. I helped with the painting part, the re-installation of the lights and the re-installation of the aileron. It was the two guys that cost me the real money ($75 per man-hour for 20 man-hours = $1,500). Therefore, this repair cost me $2,200 (Cdn) or about 1,400 Pounds. Either the shop rate is different, or they will take more than two days to do this, or their materials are vastly more expensive, or they may not really be comfortable with doing this type of repair, or they saw you coming. Hope this helps?

Mooneys are airplanes that their owners love to show off to others. Soo much is soo right about them. Hard not to extoll their characteristics to others. But that is just my opinion....

Now, for those of you who watched Regis Philbin trash seafood and Prince Edward Island last week, here is another opinion from the experiences of a Mooney Driver who attended last weekend's Canadian Owners and Pilots Association convention in Summerside PEI. As per my last note to Russ Anderson (Mooney Ambassador in Alberta) who did not make it because of engine problems, I am posting some pics. To start, PEI is a beautiful island. Picturesque, open, full of friendly people and the home of the Anne of Green Gables story. And the seafood is great. The flying was both enjoyable and challenging. The original plan was to fly from Rockcliffe Ottawa for 2 hours in the wrong direction to Sudbury Ontario (CYSB) and pick up my friend who would then accompany me to Summerside (CYSU). A stopover for fuel was planned for Quebec city (CYQB) because the planned 4.5 hours was cutting it a little close for me. And that was with a 15 knot westerly tail wind. At one point over Maine, we were grounding 196 knots at 9,500'. Flight following all the way and VFR. Both Boston Center (over Maine) and Moncton Center (over New Brunswick) asked about "all those aircraft" headed to Summerside. Over fifty aircraft flew in for the convention held on the former RCAF airbase and we all stayed in the former barracks that have been converted to a hotel by a local entrepreneur. Summerside greeted us with little carts that had "Follow Me" placards on them. Great bunch of folks. Good presentations and some good vendor displays. The highlights were a F4U Vought Corsair (FD-1U as per its Royal Navy designation) in the colours of the aircraft flown by Hampton Gray, VC, DSC, R.C.N.V.R (See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Hampton_Gray) and a Wesland Lysander dedicated to Cliff Stewart, an unassuming WWII OSS operative who flew in them for seven trips into occupied Europe in support of local resistance units. He used to tell people he spent the war "setting up radio stations..." As for Mooneys, there were two. Roger's F model came all the way from near Red Deer Alberta (1951 miles that took three days). My own travel distance was only 700 miles in one day. The trip home provided some challenges avoiding buildup and lower down (mostly between 3,000' and 5,000') but the winds at that altitude were fairly benign. Over Moncton, the controller told a 172 driver to stop drooling as we passed alongside. Over North Bay Ontario, the controllers kept six launching F16s (originally from Nellis AFB) below 7000’ until we were past and then released them for higher. Cool little buggers and faster than a Mooney. Overall a cool flight. Next year, the convention will be in Langley BC, so Russ and Roger will have shorter flights to make it.

Dan sums it up well. Mag checks on the ground are not sufficient to tell you if you have a problem. My first in-flight mag check occurs at 1000' (still time to turn around and head back). This technique was part of John Deakin's bag of tricks and the folks at GAMI. RPM drop is almost negligible. Temps are the indicator to focus on and an engine monitor is required. I learned a lot of that sort of stuff from a list just like this one. It is their biggest value to our community.

Dave: Good luck in the search. You will find tons of suggestions about checklist formats and contents. I did when I went looking. In the end, it will probably be a custom job though. Different avionics with their own checks prior to this or that will end up moving your checklist away from any particular standard. As will your knowledge. For example, how many of us cycle the prop every time we fly, even if its the third or fourth flight of the day? How many of us do in-flight mag checks? Just two examples.

Russ: I will post pictures.

Abe: Welcome to the world of flying a Mooney. Some of us have tried, over the last 18 months or so, to try and identify at least one Mooney driver who is humble. There was a fellow in Detroit that I met that came close, but no luck so far. The search for the humble Mooney driver continues to this day. By the end of your 4th or 5th hour in your new bird, you will know why. Your friends will notice the ever-present grin and the far-away look that is you thinking of how efficient (fast for so little gas consumption) your aircraft is, how it turns heads, how they think you must be something special because you own a Mooney, how you can't figure out how you got lucky enough to own a Mooney, or how safe your bird is compared to others (ask a lady by the name of Jolie Lucas). But if you think that you are that humble Mooney driver....please consider submitting your name to the "Humble Mooney Driver" contest. Seriously, you will find your Mooney to be "flying made enjoyable" (as if there ever was un-enjoyable flying). Rock solid stable, fast, and safe. It is really hard to show humility under such circumstances. Fly safe.

Quote: carusoam Russ, If you go to Thunder bay, don't you expect some lightning to go with it? Please post a picture of a wooly bugger... -a-

Dave: I agree with those who tell you it will be a non-event. After this amount of time in mine, I am completely used to its apparently backwards arrangement. You will get used to it so fast, that by the time your 20th hour rolls around on your Mooney, you will wonder why you even asked this question.

Quote: dlthig PM me and I'll send you a spreadsheet on the J. or tell me how to post.

Dan: I read on the other list that you got your yolks off OK.