By Robert N. Rossier, EAA 472091
This piece originally ran in Robert’s Stick and Rudder column in the November 2023 issue of EAA Sport Aviation magazine.
A while back, I was giving a friend a flight review, which I had touted as a fun event. As part of the exercise, I had him plan what appeared to be a simple flight. But, as we all learn in aviation, the devil is in the details.
We might debate whether or not a flight review is fun, but it’s always a good opportunity to learn and to review a breadth of information that we might not have examined for some time. As it turns out, planning even a short and simple flight can require us to exercise a broad spectrum of our aviation knowledge.
The Plan
The plan for this flight was a relatively simple one: a VFR flight from my friend’s home base at Westerly, Rhode Island (KWST), to East Hampton (KJPX, formerly KHTO) on the south fork of New York’s Long Island. As the crow flies, it’s just about 30 miles. Getting there would likely take a mere 20 to 25 minutes in his Cessna 172. It was a flight he had probably made on more than a few occasions. But despite the apparent simplicity, it opened the door for a thorough review.
Navigation and Route
We started the review with some fundamental questions on navigation: How would we navigate there? What route would we take? Why?
Especially considering his airplane had a GPS, the first cut at the navigation puzzle was to fly a straight-line course of 235 degrees direct from KWST to KJPX. In some circles, that might be considered adequate. But I suggested there might be a few additional considerations to make.
Then it was time to determine at what altitude we would fly. Assuming we would be cruising at more than 700 feet MSL, we would be in Class E airspace for most of the time, requiring us to have minimum in-flight visibility of 3 miles and maintain a cloud clearance of 500 feet below, 1,000 feet above, and 2,000 feet horizontal. This became important as we continued our planning discussion.
Flight Over Water
No matter how we framed it, getting to the destination would involve flying over water. This brought up some additional concerns, such as whether we would be within gliding distance of shore throughout the flight. While not required to stay within gliding distance of shore, it’s a factor worth considering from a personal safety perspective.
A chart in the pilot’s operating handbook (POH) for the 172 indicated that at 4,000 feet AGL, the glide distance is 6 miles. That’s assuming no wind, best glide speed, and flying in a straight line to touchdown. In most scenarios, we might need a little maneuvering altitude to make an off-field landing, so at 4,000 feet we could maybe make a successful off-field landing at a site 5 miles away.
However, it looked like there would be a period when we wouldn’t be within 4 or 5 miles of shore. That brought up a discussion of how to ditch the airplane in open water. We also touched on other options: flying a bit higher to extend our glide distance or adjusting our course to stay closer to potential landing sites. For example, to improve the situation, we might climb to 6,000 feet to give ourselves an edge — a safety margin. Alternatively, we might decide to alter our course to stay closer to land. As an alternative, my friend suggested the option to fly directly over Fishers Island, Plum Island, and Orient Point (Rose Field), and then turn south for KJPX. This would add about 6 miles to our trip, or about 3 minutes to our flight time — a cheap price to pay to minimize the risk of an unplanned swim.
A Changing Weather Picture
Just about any good flight plan hinges on the weather, and all we needed to do was tweak the expected conditions to see how it might affect the outcome of our flight.
In this case, the question was how things might change if the ceiling was only 3,000 feet. That’s still VFR, and good VFR in some circles, but for this flight, it got us thinking. If the ceiling is 3,000 feet, we would need to be cruising no higher than 2,500 feet to have proper cloud clearance, giving us more like 4 miles of glide, minus whatever we need for maneuvering. Even if we shifted our route to stay closer to land, we might still end up beyond gliding distance from shore. For a pilot carrying passengers, this might be an important consideration.
Another consideration is the visibility, which can cause havoc over the water. When visibility starts to decline over the water, we may have difficulty maintaining a horizon. What happens if visibility is reduced to 4 miles, or 3? How comfortable are we with our instrument skills?
Another factor that could surprise us is fog, which is anything but uncommon in these parts. With that thought in mind, the next question that came to mind was what happens if fog rolls in and we can’t land on Long Island or near the Connecticut shore? I suggested we might want a plan for where to go in that scenario. It might be a considerable distance inland.
This is where the GPS can be a lifesaver. For the sake of argument, I told him to assume it didn’t work. If we were going to divert to another airport, how might we get there? Navigating by pilotage over fogged-in terrain is virtually impossible, so the next consideration revolved around skills for dead reckoning and the possibility of using other forms of navigation.
Worst-Case Scenario
Once we started exploring such worst-case scenarios, we needed to dig into the POH to answer some critical questions, such as how much fuel is needed? We might also ask what our maximum range is, and how we would achieve it.
One look at the range profile in the POH told us that we can greatly extend our range by reducing power to 60 percent and slowing the aircraft to the 100-knot range. Should we find that we need to go farther than planned, we might want to reduce power and slow down. Similarly, if we need to hang out and wait for the fog to lift or other temporary conditions to improve, we need our maximum endurance, and that means slowing down to something near best glide speed and reducing power to maintain altitude at that speed.
Our discussions moved on to how to get help from ATC, and why we might do that. Then we shifted the scenario to making it a night flight, and what new elements that would add.
It seemed there was no end to where this discussion might lead and what material might be important.
All this was just part of the ground instruction for the flight review, but it put a lot of context behind our planning and our in-flight decision-making. Fortunately, everything did go as planned, and my friend got to scrape the rust off a few seldom-used flight skills.
The important message that came through in the end was that even a simple flight can become more complicated than we might imagine. But if we prepare ourselves for the potential challenges, we’ll be better prepared if they do occur. And making those preparations can actually be fun.
Robert N. Rossier, EAA 472091, has been flying for more than 40 years and has worked as a flight instructor, commercial pilot, chief pilot, and FAA flight check airman.