Fri Dec 18, 2015 10:17 am
#1425138
A wind straight down the strip, forecast to get a bit gusty. A grass strip, recently mown, soft, but in decent condition. We walk the strip before flying and that day there was nothing to indicate any no-go areas. A tailwheel aircraft, with sufficient fuel for nearly two hours. Filling up when flying off grass in winter doesn't seem sensible; that extra weight makes a difference.
It was a good flight: the take-off was fine, the aeroplane climbed well, the bimble was pleasant, giving plenty of time to get something useful from it. With short days, going somewhere wasn't really practical, but stooging about over ones favourite countryside is just as rewarding in winter. Looking at the windsock on downwind, I could see that the wind had increased, but still within a few degrees of the runway orientation. I prepared for some possible disturbance on approach, came in slightly higher than usual, slipped off a little height and landed exactly where I wanted to, a lovely three pointer that was witnessed, too. But it's not over until the aeroplane's in the hangar. It was no time to relax, so I didn't.
Just a little brake at the end of the roll before a slow turn. I'd had the stick in my lap until then. Always conscious of elevator position and wind, I'd have the stick a little forward for the short backtracking required.
But I wouldn't. Roughly 130º round, the aeroplane tipped onto its nose. Loose things slid into the footwell, then there was silence. I switched everything off and awaited assistance, which arrived en masse.
The damage was limited to the prop, although the engine was sent off to be checked for shock loading.
Our non-professional analysis concluded that three factors contributed towards the unexpected: a sticky patch on the ground, a gust of wind and a rather tail-light aeroplane, due to the fuel carried.
Of course, the wind dropped as we moved the aeroplane off the runway, adding insult to injury.
What have I learnt? I'm now more aware of the effect of a shift in the C of G when fuel is light. Without any one of those three factors, it would have been the perfect winter flight.
It was a good flight: the take-off was fine, the aeroplane climbed well, the bimble was pleasant, giving plenty of time to get something useful from it. With short days, going somewhere wasn't really practical, but stooging about over ones favourite countryside is just as rewarding in winter. Looking at the windsock on downwind, I could see that the wind had increased, but still within a few degrees of the runway orientation. I prepared for some possible disturbance on approach, came in slightly higher than usual, slipped off a little height and landed exactly where I wanted to, a lovely three pointer that was witnessed, too. But it's not over until the aeroplane's in the hangar. It was no time to relax, so I didn't.
Just a little brake at the end of the roll before a slow turn. I'd had the stick in my lap until then. Always conscious of elevator position and wind, I'd have the stick a little forward for the short backtracking required.
But I wouldn't. Roughly 130º round, the aeroplane tipped onto its nose. Loose things slid into the footwell, then there was silence. I switched everything off and awaited assistance, which arrived en masse.
The damage was limited to the prop, although the engine was sent off to be checked for shock loading.
Our non-professional analysis concluded that three factors contributed towards the unexpected: a sticky patch on the ground, a gust of wind and a rather tail-light aeroplane, due to the fuel carried.
Of course, the wind dropped as we moved the aeroplane off the runway, adding insult to injury.
What have I learnt? I'm now more aware of the effect of a shift in the C of G when fuel is light. Without any one of those three factors, it would have been the perfect winter flight.