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10/07 - The Perfect Trainer

By Dave Hirschman
Dave Hirschman, long time EAA member, is a Master CFI specializing in aerobatics and tailwheel training, a former reporter for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and a noted author.

High- or low-wing doesn’t matter.

Metal, fabric or composite are all just fine.

The things my favorite training aircraft have in common are:

1. Tandem seating (that’s front and back), with the instructor occupying the rear seat.
2. Sticks - not yokes.
3. For tailwheel training, trainers should be blind in the three-point attitude so that the student cannot see straight ahead while on the ground.
4. Primary trainers should have as few instruments as possible and no stall warning horn.
5. Push-to-talk intercoms are far superior to the voice-activated variety in any airplane.

Backseat Driver
Tandem seating puts the student (and instructor) on the centerline. That helps students feel yawing motion, and it allows them to more easily line up precisely with the runway centerline during takeoff and landing.

Even more important, students get accustomed to a field of view that doesn’t include the instructor. Students can’t see me guarding the controls, ready to intervene in a nanosecond. By the time a student solos, I’ve been relegated to background noise in his or her head. But the student’s sight picture is the same whether I’m in the plane or not.

Also, tandem seating allows me to watch the student at all times.

I can see where they’re looking and how attentive they are. Aerobatic students don’t mean to lie. But they’ll tell you they feel fine right up until the moment they hurl. In tandem aircraft, I don’t have to ask if they’re getting sweaty or turning pale—and that helps me spot airsickness before the student knows or is willing to admit that it’s coming on.

The Yoke’s On You
Sticks are better because they’re more intuitive, and they make it easier to use full control deflection when needed.

Pilots who have only flown aircraft with yokes are amazed how quickly they become accustomed to sticks. If they’re not totally comfortable with a joystick by the time they’ve taxied to the runway, they will be by the time it leaves the traffic pattern.

Blind Is Good
Tailwheel training ideally should be done in planes that block the student’s forward view in the landing attitude.

The most difficult thing about flying such planes is accepting the fact that you really can’t see the runway centerline. Once students have made that mental leap, they’ll be able to continuously increase the angle of attack in the flare and touch down in a full stall. Airplanes with great forward visibility short-circuit that process.

A pilot who learned tailwheel flying in a blind-as-a-bat Cub, Stearman, or T-6, for example, will have no difficulty transitioning to a Champ or Decathlon. But a Decathlon pilot will feel completely discombobulated the first time the pilot gets in a Stearman.

Blowing My Own Horn
In a perfect world, every student’s pre-solo flying should be done from a grass strip. It would be done in a basic airplane without gyros or even radios so the student could concentrate on stick-and-rudder flying only.

Airport markings, radio procedures, and hood work can all come later.

The fewer instruments a primary trainer has, the better. And the lack of a stall warning horn is a blessing.

Those pesky warning horns are unnerving. They’re annoying, impossible to ignore, and they needlessly raise everyone’s blood pressure. Students should be able to feel subtle differences in control pressures, sounds and sensations as an airplane slows and its angle of attack increases. But those subtleties are drowned out by a blaring horn that seems to shout: Danger! Danger! Those horns make students nervous and me irritable.

They turn power-off stalls from quiet, gentle, almost serene maneuvers to white-knuckled, stressful and dreaded events.

In Praise of Push-To-Talk

Intercoms with push-to-talk switches are so nice.

I was giving dual in a biplane last year when the student surprised me by touching down rather suddenly and sideways.

“Geez!” I yelled before regaining my composure about a second and a half too late.

A simple push-to-talk switch would have saved me from that embarrassing faux pas.

I still would have cursed, or muttered or said something salty. But my student wouldn’t have heard it.

The brief moment between the time I think of something to say, then have to reach over and push the intercom talk button, has saved me more times than I can count. In that half-second, I realize the thing I was about to say is stupid, off point or a distraction - and I don’t say it.

If only I bring that push-to-talk switch with me to my day job . . ..

In sum, a perfect trainer should be easy to fly - but hard to fly well.

A Cub is the world’s most basic and forgiving airplane. But it’s a great trainer because it rewards good technique and punishes sloppiness. A Champ is the same, but has the inherent “drawback” of excellent forward visibility.

Stearmans, Wacos, and T-6s are fantastic trainers. But they were never meant to fly off pavement in crosswinds, and such operations can be challenging to teach.

Citabrias and Decathlons are delightful trainers, and their shortcoming of too-good visibility can be overcome by putting the student in the rear seat while the instructor enjoys the view up front.

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