Speeding toward the trees

He was just starting the flying game, and I was hoping to help him get on the right track by sharing with him a few flying tricks I had learned in the past 40 years. He turned out to be enthusiastic flyer.

Little did either of us know then that during one of my “teaching” flights I showed him three tricks that no pilot should ever do. We were fortunate that day. Here’s the story of the September 10, 2015, flight down to the Corona Municipal Airport (AJO) in California for an Aircraft Spruce & Specialty open house.

After spending a few hours talking airplanes, buying had-to-have aero stuff, and meeting vendors, we were ready to fly back to Paso Robles (PRB).

During past flights down into the LA Basin, I had often been frustrated by my inability to make it all the way home because of weather hiding the tops of the 4,000-feet-plus peaks that parallel the Santa Barbara coastline, or marine layer fog. Fearing I might again have to spend the night waiting out weather, combined with departing late in the day was tickling up my let’s-go trigger.

Dave, a big fella at 240 pounds, and I loaded up, did a quick magneto check at the departure end of Runway 25 and asked the tower for takeoff clearance.

“There’s a 182 that just turned a close-in base. You can wait for him, or if you’re ready you’re cleared for takeoff on two-five,” came through my David Clarks.

It’s possible that instead of using the full length of the runway that day, my turning onto the centerline cut off a couple of hundred feet.I was ready, and wanting to show Dave how to depart quickly, I released the brakes and commenced a turning takeoff roll from the hold-short line to 25.

Always conscious that I was the one who would have to pay for engine repairs, I gradually pushed the throttle forward.

I scanned the engine instruments as we started accelerating; rpm was at 2,700, manifold pressure at 27, oil pressure at 78; looks good, I thought. I loved the 180-horsepower Lycoming O-360 in my Comanche.

Dave didn’t make any noise that I remember but he must have been transmitting some concern because when I looked up, it seemed like we were running out of runway pretty quickly.

And beyond the end of Runway 25 are trees. My grip on the yoke tightened. Not good, I thought to myself as we continued to eat up runway.

On long runways I usually just raise the nose at about 55 mph and let my beloved Comanche fly itself off when it’s ready. Not today; today it was take-charge time. So, when we got to 60 mph, I pulled the airplane off the runway, flattened the pitch angle to stay in ground effect, and raised the landing gear to gain speed and reduce drag. The gear comes up quickly in a Comanche, but since the trees were getting bigger it seemed to take quite a while that day. Dave must have realized we were going to clear the trees because I remember hearing a strong exhalation in my headphones as he let out a sigh of relief.

We crawled out of there at about 80 mph, well below the best rate of climb speed. It was the best I could do with the power I had. An hour and 50 minutes later we touched down at Paso Robles.

Recently I asked Dave if he had been worried. His laconic reply was, “A little but that runway is short and the trees!” Dave has added more ratings and has flown hundreds of hours in the years since. He added, “I’ve been more scared since then. LOL.”

Later, I reviewed my decisions that day.

First, Runway 7/25 at Corona is 3,200 feet long, which is plenty of runway for my little Comanche. According to the pilot’s operating handbook, at the airport altitude about sea level (533 feet) it should only have taken a little more than 800 feet to break ground. The handbook also indicates that the rate of climb should exceed 800 feet per minute. I can guess that clawing my way skyward at 80 mph instead of the best rate of climb speed of 96 mph greatly slowed the climb.

So why did the runway seem so short?

My decision to rush to takeoff had a lot to do with it. The paved hold short area at the end of Runway 25 is wide. It’s possible that instead of using the full length of the runway that day, my turning onto the centerline cut off a couple of hundred feet.

My leisurely application of throttle indicates that I thought we had plenty of runway. In reality, I was behind the airplane from the minute I accepted the quick takeoff clearance.

When the Sparky Imeson rule of thumb for density altitude (subtract 600 feet from the runway length for every 10 degrees Fahrenheit above the standard temperature for the airport elevation) is applied for that 90-degree day, the short runway is no longer a perception, it’s a reality.

Here’s what I should have done: taken my time to complete the preflight check list; waited for the incoming airplane to clear the runway; and then lined up on the centerline and completed my engine checks at 2,000 rpm before releasing the brakes.

Steve Ells is a freelance aviation writer, commercial pilot, and A&P mechanic based in Paso Robles, California.