The now abandoned “Griswold” airport - Madison Connecticut
Author in his “Office"
My Solo
Everyone has an interesting story to tell. The problem is; most of us don’t realize just how interesting our stories can be especially to others who have maybe only dreamed about what we have accomplished. The most mundane to some of us, may be a life long ambition to others who lack either the resources or the ability to achieve what some have done. How may of us drooled over the fastest, sharpest car; the local hot rod and wonder if one day, we would join the ranks of the rubber burners by impressing the local honeys with our fast machines. To some, ever driving or owning such a car is an event that may never occur during their lifetime.
As a young boy I often found myself looking skyward at the sound of an airplane. Even in the fifties, private aircraft were relatively commonplace; Cessna’s, Pipers and the occasional Taylorcraft were often observed plying the invisible lanes in the sky. Their sounds were unmistakable. The throaty roar of an un-muffled Lycoming or Continental as it approached, changing its pitch as it passed overhead as the Doppler Effect made its presence known only to disappear over the horizon. I dreamed of what it must be like sitting in those airplanes; in complete control of one’s destiny; answerable to no one but our own skills and the laws of physics.
My day came one sunny summer afternoon in Madison Connecticut. Madonna’s “Borderline” was the popular tune on the radio as I drove the summer route to Griswold Airport in Madison. I had already logged over a hundred hours piloting a private aircraft; far more than the normal student pilot would accumulate before they soloed. My hours came from doing my job; actually doing someone else’s job when they were on vacation or took a day off. I was the back-up traffic reporter for a local radio personality. How that came about is another story and will be explained later. Nevertheless, through my duties as a traffic reporter, I was afforded a unique opportunity to learn how to fly; to pilot a private aircraft at someone else’s expense. However, learning the basics was easily accomplished during the normal 20 minute breaks between traffic reports. My pilot and instructor would take these opportunities to teach me a thing or two about flying and then at the end of the reporting shift, would add another 15 to 30 minutes of intense instruction. Those were pretty heady days and while I was still terrified of speaking on the air traffic control radio, I looked forward to my few minutes of private instruction. Then, my break finally arrived’ as my traffic reporter Mike, was taking a week off and he told my pilot” to teach me to fly” in that timeframe. By the end of that week, I had some 20 hours accumulated and was able to occasionally “drop it in” on landings. But, there was a problem. While I was able to key the microphone and speak verbatim and unrehearsed to hundreds of thousands of listeners telling them where the back-ups were, I was terrified to speak with the tower guy while coming in for a landing. The problem was soon solved as my instructor elected to leave his position at the Hartford Brainerd flight school and assume the responsibilities of chief flight instructor at Shoreline Aviation located in Madison, Connecticut.
Griswold airport, named after it’s founder and father of it’s current owner, Sherm Griswold was situated on the Connecticut shoreline and adjacent to one of Connecticut’s best State Park beaches; Hammonessett. It was a tiny operation with one 1,800 foot paved runway aligned to the northeast/southwest and a grass strip suitable for glider tows and banner operations. The “office” was a series of buildings, Quonset huts and shacks in various forms of disrepair that somehow served as maintenance hangers, flight operations, aircraft storage and pilot’s lounge. I use the term “lounge” loosely as the décor was early “throwaway” items comprising of old kitchen tables doubling as the chart table and lunch counter placed next to a dilapidated, overstuffed sofa and a few chairs usually occupied by one or more airport cats. A large local planning chart hung on one wall where student pilots would share access to this navigational relic with the flight dispatcher who doubled as the air charter and airplane sightseeing booking agent. On most Saturday and Sunday’s, the phone would ring with customers asking for local sightseeing rides over the picturesque shorelines or frequently the caller would be looking to charter transportation to one of the four local island destinations; Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard, Block or Fishers Islands. The dispatcher would estimate the costs using a piece of string stretched across the chart to calculate the round trip distance, estimating flight time multiplied by the hourly rate based on which aircraft and/or pilot was available to make the flight; weather permitting.
A number of the “characters” hanging out at the airport were pilots but not necessarily operating out of Griswold, per se. A few were charter pilots flying cargo or bank checks out of New Haven or Hartford while others were aircraft owners seeking the camaraderie of fellow air warriors and Griswold became a “comfortable” zone to socialize with peers and pilot wannabes. Student pilots were always a treat to observe; offering a never ending source of material for future aviation stories. Take the time the student who after pre-flighting a Cessna 152 proceeds to pump too much fuel in the carburetor and upon cranking the starter encounters a “backfire”. The student now sees flames shooting out of the exhaust pipe and engulfing the cowl and he thinks he's going to die; or at the very least destroy an aircraft he likely cannot afford to pay for. As the dumbfounded student sits there listening to 10 pilots yell at him to “continue to crank the starter” thereby sucking the flames harmlessly back inside the engine, the local mechanic walks out from the shop and calmly shuts the fuel valve off and hits the starter key. Problem solved...no damage sustained save for the students ego and the student is told to attempt to re-start the aircraft and proceed with his practice solo. Trainer aircraft are difficult to schedule so the luckless student decides to "give it another go"; restarts the bird and proceeds to taxi the plane to the active runway where upon he applies takeoff power, starts down the runway on the roll when the engine suddenly dies. Pilots hate when that happens as it can really spoil your day especially if it occurs just as the plane is leaving the ground. Again, the mechanic just grins, saunters over to the now disabled aircraft, reached inside to the floor and turns the fuel back on while the now totally frustrated student contemplates the fact that this is just not his day to fly. So much for the mandatory pilot checklist! Meanwhile the hapless instructor watching from the pilot lounge simply hangs his head in disbelief and wonders just why he picked this line of work.
The ceiling of the flight “office” is decorated with a plethora of faded, ripped shirts commemorating an array of student pilot’s first solo. This tradition continues today and is repeated at many small airports and grass strips across the country. Those without the traditional shirt trophy usually had their Polaroid photo pinned to the wall among the thousands of old, faded business cards papering the walls of the flight office offering a range of services from carpentry, plumbing and termite control to tax preparation and landscaping work. Numerous coffee mugs advertising now defunct corporate logos and themes and old donut boxes occupy the table in the corner that sometimes even manages to have a pot of brew available that could be poured into one of these crusty relics. Since alcohol is generally taboo around pilots who are required to abstain from indulgence “eight hours from bottle to throttle”, coffee and Diet Coke become the beverages of choice and a cup of one of these generally occupies the hands of those gathered at the airport swapping stories. Occasionally some of these establishments even managed to generate some real business but it’s usually a pretty laid back group.
About the fourth rendition of “Borderline” fades from the radio as I pull into the gravel lot next to the hanger and peruse the remaining aircraft parked in a semi circle like ducks in a pond in front of the flight office. Most of these aircraft are privately owned and “leased back” to the airport to be used as rentals and flight trainers. We have the usual selection of Cessna 150 and 152’s and a Piper Warrior. There are also two Piper Tomahawks, a T-tailed 2-seater also used for basic instruction but too small for me and my instructor to shoehorn our somewhat oversized frames into. We have settle on a red and white Cessna 152 as our training bird; it large enough to handle our combined weight and being a two seat plane is pretty economical to rent. Costs for the hourly fees are one of the limiting factors for most students where a significant portion of a weeks pay can be consumed in a good weekend of flying. During this time period, the average hourly rental was $38 per hour on the “Hobbs” meter plus a fee equal to about 50% of that rate for the instructor who usually split 50% of his hourly fee with the airport.
Entering the flight office I observe the Cessna 53280 is tied down and seemingly available for flying. My instructor is already there finishing up probably his third or fourth mug of coffee and hands me a small aluminum box containing the aircraft keys and fuel log. It is my job to pre-flight the aircraft, a task every pilot performs unless he’s an instructor. Instructors it seems are governed by some unpublished tradition that it is beneath them to walk out on the ramp until the student has just about finished his pre-flight inspection. Of course, it could also be construed as a sign of confidence that the instructor is willing to entrust his life to a student’s abilities to warrant the aircraft “safe” to fly. I believe it’s a “class” thing; a reminder to the student that while you may be able to pilot this thing you are still a “trainee” and not yet accepted into the inter circle of a full fledged pilot, let alone to the ranks of those godlike creature called “instructors”.
I begin my inspection by pulling the key out of the aluminum clipboard and opening the pilot side door. The first thing we do is confirm the 6 or 8 digits on the “Hobbs” as what has been recorded on the aircraft flight log from the previous. The “Hobbs” is an electronic hour meter that records the amount of time the engine has run. It is constant and generally coincides with your watch. An hour on the Hobbs narrowed to the nearest “tenth” would equal an hour on a clock. The aircraft has another measure of engine time and that is located on a gauge called a tachometer. The tachometer measures the engine’s revolutions per minute or RPM. The center of this gauge has an analog set of digits similar to the “Hobbs” that measures the amount of time the engine has run as “Tach Time”. The difference between the two is dependent upon how fast in terms of RPM the engine is turning over in a given period. At engine idle, the tach counter would advance slowly but increase as the throttle is applied to take off power. Generally speaking, tach time lags Hobbs time to some degree but airports use “Hobbs” in their calculation of charging you for the use of the airplane. It’s generally the higher number and probably due to a conspiracy by some guy name “Hobbs” and the flight instructors across the county. It is also how their pay is calculated.
With the numbers confirmed and recorded, I turn on the “Master” switch powering the crafts electrical systems. When this is done a number of things happen. Fuel gages swing to their full position (assuming the previous pilot topped off the tanks) and the heading gyro begins to spool up with a whining sound. While the switch is on, I reach over and pull the flap switch into the full down position extending the flaps. I note the fuel gage readings and turn the master off. Usually in the door pocket or behind the point seat can be found a mall glass cup or narrow clear plastic tube with a pin sticking out at one end. This is a fuel sampling device and is used to draw a small amount of fuel direct from the lowest part of the wing tanks on either side of the aircraft. With that in hand I reach up to the left wing and draw a little fuel into the container. Holding it up to the light I look at the fuel of signs of water and other contaminates such as dirt, rust or chips. I also note the color of the fuel. Purple signifies 100 Low Lead and red is 80 octane. Mixed fuel turns a dark color and alerts you that someone may have pumped in the wrong fuel. There are lots of small turbine aircraft today and while the pumping equipment is supposed to prevent such occurrence, Jet fuel or JP4 would not mix with gasoline and cause a serious engine failure. The fuel looks good and I toss the sample on the ground where it evaporates. I’ve often thought just how much fuel is thrown on the ground at airports across the country and wonder just when the EPA police is going to fine us for contaminating the ground with intentional fuel spills.
This aspect of the pre-flight is nothing more than a close visual inspection of the aircraft and its components. What we are looking for is anything that appears out of the ordinary; dents abrasions, anything loose or missing. We inspect all of the systems such as the propeller, navigation lights, oil level, and tires looking for anything that might ground the aircraft as unsafe to fly. One thing most pilots do is grab a ladder and actually open the fuel caps to check the level of fuel in each tank. Gauges are notorious for inaccuracy so the only sure way to double check if you have enough gas is to look inside.
By this time my instructor, seeing that my pre-flight is about done begins his walk to the plane. As I’m already mounted in the pilot’s seat with my seat belt and shoulder harness fastened; aircraft checklist in hand, the instructor assumes his position of “absolute authority” in the right or co-pilots seat. He observes me while I proceed down the plastic encased checklist in a predetermined order; speaking aloud as I complete each item. “Fuel selector to “both”, Mixture “rich, carburetor heat “off”, Prime “push twice” for cold start and twist lock “off”, and the beat goes on. There are probably about 35 items on the list including those inspection items visually inspected outside the aircraft during the pre-flight. The internal “start” checklist is very important because it forces you to always follow a pre-determined procedure that is unique to that aircraft. While many planes; Cessna’s, Pipers, Beech’s have the same or similar controls, there are subtle differences in terms of starting, flying and shut-down. Even the Emergency Procedure follows a slightly different order or process depending upon how the plane is equipped. By getting into the habit of using the checklist you are pretty much insuring that you are doing everything you need to do to safely fly this aircraft. Overconfident pilots often assume they followed everything but as humans, we do make mistakes. In the flying business, mistakes aren’t only costly, they could result in the ultimate price; death. There is an old flying phrase that often captions a 1920’s photo of a “Jenny” biplane caught in a tall tree; “Aviation in itself is not in itself inherently dangerous. But to even greater degree than the sea, it is terribly unforgiving of any incapacity, carelessness or neglect.” Most pilots are familiar with that picture as it is timeless and an absolutely true representation of the risks.
Finally, check list complete, it’s time to start this beast. I yell “CLEAR!” and turn the key to start while my erstwhile instructor acknowledges “clear prop”. We do this just in case someone is bending down outside the aircraft in the vicinity of the propeller because once that prop begins to turn, it’s going to start and anyone in the way is going to receive a cheap haircut. The “clear” command probably dates back to the old stick and rudder days of planes that needed to be “propped” by hand. Anyway, the engine is now running and the radio and navigation equipment is turned on. Radios are dialed in to the proper frequency which is usually the “ground” freq at a commercial airport. Since we are flying from an uncontrolled field, pilots use what is called a “Unicom” frequency or in this case 122.8. The other is 122.9 which are generally used at uncontrolled fields without flight schools. Navigation lights, radios, strobes are all on and we are ready to taxi. At Griswold, the ramp is about 75 feet from the active runway when departing to the south so we generally don’t bother announcing the taxi portion of the trip. We apply a little throttle while turning the yoke either left or right depending upon wind direction. The yoke controls the ailerons or the rolling control of the horizontal axis. Ailerons are always “turned” into the direction of the wind. This places the upwind aileron pointing “up” which causes the wind to push the wing down towards the ground. In strong very crosswinds, a taxing aircraft could actually tip over if this procedure isn’t followed. There are other reasons but to go into them would turn this missive into a flying school textbook. All during this time, Russ, my instructor is observing me closely while trying to appear totally disinterested. That’s another “instructors” trait of generally appearing to be bored. We reach the spot adjacent to the active runway and I stop the plane with the nose pointing into the wind. This will help keep the engine cool as we proceed to another part of the checklist called the “run up”. The brakes are applied and the engine RPM is run up to 2,000 rpm. The key which is also the magneto switch controlling both the left and right engine magnetos are turned to the “left” mag. This shorts out the right mag so the engine is now only firing on the left mag. This should cause and RPM drop of 100 rpm + or- 50 rpm from the “both” position. Noting the rpm drop, we turn the key back to “both” for a second before repeating the process only this time we turn the key to the “right” magneto. Again noting the drop in RPM and finding it within limits we are safely assured the critical ignition components of the engine are functioning properly. Next we pull the carb heat knob out allowing air which has been heated by a shroud surrounding the muffler to enter the engine. This warm air mixture causes a lean mixture and an RPM drop of 200 rpm or so. What we are looking for is an actual drop in rpm proving the carb heat is working. More on why that's important later.
OK, everything is working and we’re ready to take to the sky. “Griswold Traffic, Cessna 53280 is taking the active two four Griswold”. This announces to the entire world that we intend to move onto the runway and depart down runway 24. Anyone in the Griswold traffic pattern is presumably listening to this same frequency and is now alerted of our intentions. We turn onto the runway and apply the brakes as we line the plane up on the centerline of the runway. Flaps are set to 10 degrees for take off and I quickly scan the panel looking for any anomalies. Finding none I push the throttle in to full on position and held there with my hand. The engine roars as the propeller comes up to speed. The entire airframe is shaking as the engine at full throttle is straining in it mounts. I release the brakes and the plane lunges forward and picks up speed quickly as the airspeed indicator begins to register. By the time we reach mid field, the airspeed is registering 60 knots and she’s ready to fly. A little back pressure on the control yoke and the plane leaves the ground, all the shaking and vibration ceasing almost instantly. YES, we are flying. I hear Russ mutter something about rudder and I’m reminded to keep pressure on the right rudder pedal overcoming the P-factor from the rotating prop which tends to cause the aircraft to yaw to the left. “Step on the ball” as we were taught in ground school means press on the rudder pedal that will cause the little ball inside the “turn & bank” indicator to return to it’s centered or “caged” position. In this case the little ball was leaking to the right so by pressing on the right rudder pedal, the yaw is corrected and everything is back to normal; including Russ. This “right rudder” condition is one of many student pilot omissions that give instructors premature grey. Seemingly unimportant; who cares if the plane is yawing a bit, the condition if occurring at the wrong airspeed and at what we call a “high angle of attack” could cause a stall which could be unrecoverable.
Back to flying – I raise the flap switch and the plane picks up speed. En-route climb speed for this plane is 70 knots indicated so I keep one eye scanning the airspeed indicator and a multitude of other gauges while I increase or decrease back pressure on the yoke to maintain the proper speed. Everyone thinks that pressure on the yoke which controls the elevator makes the plane climb or descend if pushed down. While this is true to a point, the elevator is the primary control for your airspeed. Another old pilot adage “Pull back to go up, pull back more to go down” is entirely accurate. We reach traffic pattern altitude so it’s time to pull the throttle back a bit and level off and we spin the trim control to get the plane to maintain altitude with pressure on the yoke. We start a turn to the left followed by anther gradual turn to the left which places the plane in an opposite heading from the take-off but paralleling the runway. This is called the “downwind” leg of the approach. I pick up the microphone and croak “Griswold traffic Cessna 53280 entering a left downwind for two four Griswold”. I keep my left eye scanning outside the window alternating between the airspeed indicator and our position relative to the runway. As we approach mid field, I pull the carb heat on, pull the power back slightly, check the airspeed to see we are below 110 knots and put in 10 degrees of flaps all in generally the same motion. Russ reminds me to keep a scan outside of the cockpit in case some other aircraft decide to wander in our path. There really are lots of things going on to keep three people busy! Instructors call this “cockpit management” or “getting you head outside of the instruments’ and fly the plane. By this time we have reached the end of runway and I pull the power back starting a gentle decent. Soon I reach a spot forty five degrees from the runway end; I begin a left turn, add flaps to twenty degrees and announce to the world we are entering a left base for Two Four Griswold. Now the plane is beginning to really slow and we need to watch the airspeed. Normal approach speed is 65 knots and we keep the airspeed pegged. Looking outside the window, I see that we are almost adjacent to the end of the runway. Looking down, I also observe we are over the roof of the “Cheesbourough Ponds” factory which has become my “local” base turn landmark. Within a minute or less its time to turn final and I make another 20 degree bank left turn. The plane is now lined up to the runway which is straight ahead about a half mile away. Our altitude is around 500 feet and our airspeed is 65 knots. Using one hand on the throttle and the other on the yoke I now focus on keeping the end of the runway dead center in the windscreen. This ensures we are on the correct glide path and will neither under or overshoot the short 1800 foot runway at Madison. Judging we are going to make the field, I put in full flaps and announce on the radio that Cessna 53280 in on final for two four Griswold. Airspeed 60, wings level and pointed straight at the runway I gradually play with the throttle and back pressure to maintain the runway in the windscreen center. As we cross the bulrushes growing out of the creek at the beginning of the runway, we are now only 20 feet or so above the ground. I pull the throttle all the way back to idle and the plane become very quiet. The plane starts to level as I increase back pressure and adjust the trim. Keeping one eye outside the window I judge we are about 5 feet off the deck and across the threshold. I now look through the windshield and try to hold the nose up and keep the plane off the runway. Yep, I know this sounds crazy but now we are trying to hold the plane off as long as we can. What is really happening is the plane is about to cease flying and stall; with the wheels six inches off the pavement. The stall warning horn is blaring as the tire kiss the ground with a little squeak. I lower the nose, hold in back pressure and reach over to raise the flaps. Carb heat off, I touch the brakes to slow the plane and begin to turn it around near the end of the runway. We made it! I grab the microphone and announce that “Cessna 53280 is back taxing two four Griswold”.
It’s a beautiful day with clear blue skies and almost no wind to speak of. With Russ aboard I repeat the take off and landing drill 3 more times. Finally on the fourth approach, Russ says “are you ready to take this thing around by yourself?” I reply “not yet and we proceed to do two more landings. On the last landing Russ says “taxi over to the ramp”. He reaches in my flight bag and pulls out my logbook. He makes a few entries as required by the FAA certifying I’m competent to solo and then opens the door. The engine is still ticking away at idle. Russ fastens the seat belt across the now empty seat and says “you have just done 7 take offs and landings without me once ever touching a thing. Now show me three more with full stops at each one. You will find the plane will come off easier and climb faster without my weight. Three take offs and three full stop landings.” He shuts the door and walks away. I’m alone. The moment has arrived and I’m focused. I mean I’m really focused. So focused I’m too busy to be scared. Every bit of repetitive instruction and drill is vividly displayed in my memory. Like a well oiled machine, I turn the plane around, check for any traffic in the pattern and announce on the radio “Griswold traffic, Cessna 53280 is taking the active two four, Griswold”.
Looking down runway 24 at Griswold
I press the throttle and turn onto the runway lining up on the center line. Ten degrees of flaps, fuel selector on both, trim centered, I check and verify the heading gyro with the magnetic compass. Apply the brakes I press the throttle to its stop and release the brakes. As I gain speed, I concentrate on keeping the plane on the centerline and watch the airspeed. The all important airspeed. It hits 60 knots and I apply back pressure. This time the plane leaps off the ground and I relax pressure quickly. The plane is much lighter now and responds like a sports car. Airspeed climbs to 80 knots as I apply more back pressure to slow us down yet climb at a greater angle while raising the flaps. Hammonesset beach flashes into view. What a sparkling day! Holding right rudder I begin to judge when to start my first left turn. I’m over the water and begin my turn. I glance at the altimeter “Holy Cow, eleven hundred feet already!” as I pull back on the throttle and spin the trim knob. The plane is level at 1,000 feet and I glance to the runway. I’m at the appropriate distance so I reach for the mike and announce “Griswold Traffic, Cessna 53280 entering a left downwind runway two four, Griswold”. As the plane reaches mid field, carb heat on, power back more. A check of the airspeed confirming we are at 100 knots so I add ten degrees of flaps. The turn to base is textbook as is the turn onto final. OK Mr. Joe, you are about to make your first solo landing. Let’s try not to bounce it all over the place or drop it in from six feet! I concentrate on the airspeed, the runway position in the windshield,’ I'm lined up slightly right of the runway so I kick in a bit of left rudder and ease the plane back to the center. Bulrushes under the wheels and the runway just a few feet ahead. I raise the nose slightly and pull the power to idle. Both eyes now focus ahead I subconsciously hear Russ’s words “hold the nose off as long as you can, hold it off, hold it offffffff. Squeak! We’re down. Perfect. I glance around looking for Russ but he’s nowhere in sight. Later I learn instructors are always there observing but generally remain out of sight. I suppose that instills even more confidence in the student they are able to solo. My shirt is soaked in sweat.
I repeat the process two more times, each ending in a nice, full stall landing. After the third landing, I taxi off the runway to the ramp. The ramp is full so I taxi out on the grass to one of the remote tie downs remembering to hold full up elevator while on the grass. I gracefully turn the plane around and shut it down with the wings centered over the two old airplane tires on the grounds, marking the tie down ropes. I note the Hobbs meter and enter the time in the aluminum book. I fasten the seat belt across the pilot’s seat and place the control lock in the yoke column preventing and damage to the control surfaces from wind. I lock the plane and walk toward the pilot shack. One of the commercial pilots who does banner tows and sightseeing rides walks up behind me and casually utters “Congratulations, Captain!”
Too bad I wore such a nice sport shirt today; it will soon be cut and “mounted on the wall” once again commemorating the timeless tradition of a “first solo”.