Jonathan Baron
New member
I don't mean your first RIDE in a Triple Tail...I'm sure it was more than fun, but the first time you pilot one...OMG!
Very few of us get our initial flight instruction in anything other than those forgiving blunt tools known as "good trainers." Some (Cubs, Champs) are more interesting than others (C150s/152s). Many of our first airplanes have their peerless virtues, such as Taylorcrafts, Luscombes, C140s and the like. Yet few aircraft deliver that vivid package of qualities that make first flights in a Triple Tail so astonishing. Thus, I figured I'd share mine in the hope of hearing others
For me it was the dream deferred. Blinded and seduced by a hangar queen, I'd owned my 'Master for months before that first left seat flight. There was also the little matter of modifying it to allow my sole foot to and fro to make the rudder move left and right. At length and at last the drum roll began. First came all that taxiing and control adjustments to tune and become accustomed to the set-up. I'd flown a similarly modified Luscombe for years, with its rudder so sensitive that a hard sneeze could begin a swerve. The 'Master was as different as a sloop rigged daysailer is from a British Frigate in the Age of Sail. I'd not taxied an aircraft with heft and momentum, with six cylinders in front of me and a wing below me.
Then that late afternoon came when I felt ready, the machine was ready, and a courageous instructor sat next to me whom I'd hoped was ready. I was so happy Russell was nearby too...never would have happened without him, and we were launching from Renton, Washington, his home base. Finally Renton tower said I was ready or, rather, declared it was ready for me to go.
Though not O'Hare, Renton sits amidst all sorts of airspace - Boeing Field and SEATAC - and a bunch of smaller airports nearby. No time to roll out, stop, and take a deep breath. It was time to fly, right now.
The engine roar is just as loud for pilot and passenger alike, but when you're the pilot it's personal; you're connected to it. Rolling now. Excitements swaps places with bewilderment for just a moment - no menacing twitches or head-for-the-weeds threats as I was used to - and the very second bewilderment vanished we were in the air, moving faster right after take-off than the top speed of my Luscombe. I began SCREAMING with joy. I have no recollection of the syllables I shouted, just the shouting: euphoria like a cannon. My instructor who'd flown true piston powered birds of war, as well as jets, was more concerned with details...something we were cleared for a minute ago....East Channel Departure or some-such...stay below twelve hundred feet until...whatever. Yoke forward=go faster, gimme any heading you want, buddy, WE'RE OUT OF HERE! Bellanca has left the airspace!
I'd been in the right seat with Russell flying many times before this day, thus the 2x ground objects vanishing beneath me speed did not shock me. Nor did flying the pattern at Arlington, Washington with all its trim crank turning and yoke heaving to get the speed down to get the flaps down, along with the "We're too high!" followed by the "No we're not!" throttle squirt on final.
"We're down," said the instructor.
"What?" I asked, waiting for a touchdown chirp.
"We've LANDED."
"Huh?...Oh!"
When you've blasted effortlessly into the sky, and your wheels have rolled onto the runway before you know you've landed, it ain't pilot skill. It's a new world.
Jonathan
Very few of us get our initial flight instruction in anything other than those forgiving blunt tools known as "good trainers." Some (Cubs, Champs) are more interesting than others (C150s/152s). Many of our first airplanes have their peerless virtues, such as Taylorcrafts, Luscombes, C140s and the like. Yet few aircraft deliver that vivid package of qualities that make first flights in a Triple Tail so astonishing. Thus, I figured I'd share mine in the hope of hearing others

For me it was the dream deferred. Blinded and seduced by a hangar queen, I'd owned my 'Master for months before that first left seat flight. There was also the little matter of modifying it to allow my sole foot to and fro to make the rudder move left and right. At length and at last the drum roll began. First came all that taxiing and control adjustments to tune and become accustomed to the set-up. I'd flown a similarly modified Luscombe for years, with its rudder so sensitive that a hard sneeze could begin a swerve. The 'Master was as different as a sloop rigged daysailer is from a British Frigate in the Age of Sail. I'd not taxied an aircraft with heft and momentum, with six cylinders in front of me and a wing below me.
Then that late afternoon came when I felt ready, the machine was ready, and a courageous instructor sat next to me whom I'd hoped was ready. I was so happy Russell was nearby too...never would have happened without him, and we were launching from Renton, Washington, his home base. Finally Renton tower said I was ready or, rather, declared it was ready for me to go.
Though not O'Hare, Renton sits amidst all sorts of airspace - Boeing Field and SEATAC - and a bunch of smaller airports nearby. No time to roll out, stop, and take a deep breath. It was time to fly, right now.
The engine roar is just as loud for pilot and passenger alike, but when you're the pilot it's personal; you're connected to it. Rolling now. Excitements swaps places with bewilderment for just a moment - no menacing twitches or head-for-the-weeds threats as I was used to - and the very second bewilderment vanished we were in the air, moving faster right after take-off than the top speed of my Luscombe. I began SCREAMING with joy. I have no recollection of the syllables I shouted, just the shouting: euphoria like a cannon. My instructor who'd flown true piston powered birds of war, as well as jets, was more concerned with details...something we were cleared for a minute ago....East Channel Departure or some-such...stay below twelve hundred feet until...whatever. Yoke forward=go faster, gimme any heading you want, buddy, WE'RE OUT OF HERE! Bellanca has left the airspace!
I'd been in the right seat with Russell flying many times before this day, thus the 2x ground objects vanishing beneath me speed did not shock me. Nor did flying the pattern at Arlington, Washington with all its trim crank turning and yoke heaving to get the speed down to get the flaps down, along with the "We're too high!" followed by the "No we're not!" throttle squirt on final.
"We're down," said the instructor.
"What?" I asked, waiting for a touchdown chirp.
"We've LANDED."
"Huh?...Oh!"
When you've blasted effortlessly into the sky, and your wheels have rolled onto the runway before you know you've landed, it ain't pilot skill. It's a new world.
Jonathan