Sam Longo AME A&P

RETRO OTTER

By Sam Longo AME, A&P

Everything old is new again.  It seems to have started with the new Volkswagen Beetle and grown from there.  You can buy a new Mini Cooper, new Mustang GT, even a new Triumph Bonneville motorcycle.  Retro is in, and it has finally landed in the world of aviation.

If you were going to build any “new” retro aircraft, I could not imagine a better candidate than the legendary DeHavilland Twin Otter.  The original prototype CF-DHC-X first flew on May 20^th, 1965.  Since then over 800 of the rugged little STOL (short takeoff and land) aircraft have been produced. The “Two Otter” as it was originally called was evolutionary.  A six-foot plug was used to stretch the original single Otter fuselage.  A new wing, empennage and tricycle landing gear rounded out the major airframe changes.  The revolutionary part of the equation started when the company decided to hang two Pratt and Whitney PT6A turboprop engines on the wings.  With each engine rated at around 475 SHP (shaft horse power) the aircraft gained 50% more power for 35% less weight compared to the single R1340 Wasp radial.  With the added ability to climb on one engine, the ultimate bush plane was born.

My own experience with the Twin Otter started early in my aircraft maintenance career.  As an apprentice at Nordair, I was introduced to the type on my first tour north in Frobisher Bay (Iqaluit) on Baffin Island.  Working nights it took about eight hours to prepare one DC3 for the next day’s flights and approximately one hour to prepare two Twin Otters. This statement alone made them a bush mechanics dream machine. They could be left outside, over night, in minus 60 degree weather, and be flying after a short 45 minute pre-heat. The rugged fixed gear design, simple hydraulics, and bullet proof, PT6 engines made the aircraft very reliable and ideally suited for the harsh Arctic environment.

When I left Nordair in 1976, I returned to Toronto and landed a job at DeHavilland in Downsview, eventually ending up in test flight.  As an airframe mechanic I worked on all types of aircraft coming off the assembly lines. The Dash 7 was just getting started so at that time the Twin Otters and Buffalos were our bread and butter.  The Twin Otter was always my favorite aircraft to work on.  With standard cable operated flight controls and a simple 1500 PSI hydraulic system, controlling nose wheel steering, brakes and flaps, it was a nice basic “mechanics” airframe.  Of course by this time the aircraft had been up-rated to the PT6A-27 engines producing about 680 SHP, so the performance on wheels, skis or floats was simply stellar.  From the Arctic Circle to the deserts of Africa the aircraft performed admirably and earned a solid reputation as a rugged, reliable, go anywhere aircraft.

Personally for me flying in a Twin Otter has always been an enjoyable experience.  I have had the pleasure of flying in a West Coast Air Twin Otter on floats from Vancouver to Victoria Harbor. Taxiing to the docks at the foot of the Empress Hotel is always a treat.  I have droned lazily over the Grand Canyon in a Twin Otter “Vista Liner”.  Its large picture windows and super quiet 4 bladed propellers, helped to make it one of the most memorable flights of my life.  Flights like these make me proud to realize that I played a very small part in building a truly great Canadian aircraft.

I never quite understood the company’s wisdom when DeHavilland decided to end production of the Twin Otter.  At the time I remember thinking that the decision was wrong. The design was a proven commodity, worthy of ongoing support and development.  It took a few years but obviously others felt the same way.  Viking Air, sole proprietors of the type certificates for all of DeHavillands “Heritage Collection” aircraft, are taking the bold step to put the DHC-6 back into production.  The new Viking Twin Otters will have PT6A-34 or –35 engines rated at 750 SHP spinning 3 bladed Hartzell props, with optional 4 blade props if required. 

Talking Shop

By Sam Longo

Building, restoring and repairing old motorcycles is a great hobby.  However, attempting to pursue this passion under less than ideal working conditions can rapidly siphon off much of the joy.  On this topic I speak from experience.  I have, over the years, worked on motorcycles in underground garages, basement furnace rooms, garden sheds, alleyways, aircraft hangars and even a fifth floor apartment in Don Mills.  Fortunately, memories of my past nomadic maintenance adventures only serve to enhance the appreciation I now have for my current workshop.  For the reasons stated below, “Honda Heaven” has evolved into my ultimate motorcycle utopia.  

Size matters:  At 300 square feet, the shop is not overly large.  It holds 5 to 6 bikes nicely with sufficient room to work.  Depending on your point of view, this fact can be a blessing or a curse.

Comfort:  Because it is small and well insulated, a compact oil filled heater keeps it warm all winter.  A ceiling fan and built in air conditioner are recent “decadent” additions to keep things cool in the increasingly hot summer months.

Good light/great music:  Lots of good light and good tunes from multiple speakers keep frustrations at bay when master cylinder springs inadvertently launch themselves across the shop.

Beer Fridge:  When lost springs cannot be found and work stops, cold beer and louder music may be your only recourse.  Fear not a new spring is just around the corner.

Hydraulic bike lift:  Vintage bikes, vintage backs, and vintage knees, all praise Princess Auto for this miraculous, deep discounted, godsend to the world of motorcycle maintenance.  I need not say more!

Overhead electric crane:  Every time I use this thing I smile.  Sixty-nine dollars, a steel beam and two soft straps lift and hold the front or back of any bike with the touch of a button. This, my friends, is wheel change nirvana, with or without a center stand. 

Sturdy workbench:  Complete with vice and a magnifying inspection light.  This one was built from a discarded turbine engine crate and topped with sheet aluminum.

Small portable compressor:  Whether you are simply inflating a tire or freeing up seized brake caliper pistons, this is another absolute necessity for any real workshop. 

Entrance door:  The entrance door to my shop is a thirty-six inch wide steel door.  This works nicely as large bike filter.  Cruisers and touring rigs remain outside.  They are just too large to pass through my self-imposed motorcycle type micron rating.

No distractions:  Contrary to popular demand, I refuse to install a telephone or television.  These are mere distractions that interrupt valuable work time and take up equally valuable workspace.  These devices are best left in the house, cell phones included.

One comfy chair:  From time to time you need to rest (it’s a middle age thing).  An old mini van seat serves as the perfect perch to sit with a cold beverage and survey the fleet, contemplating future projects. 

So as you can see, I am really quite spoiled.  Add to this, a job that pays me for summers off (from which I am soon to retire) and it becomes apparent that I really am living the good life in Honda Heaven.  Because I do spend so much time in the shop, my wife Irene often refers to it as my summer home.  I recently over heard her commenting to one of our neighbors; “If he ever gets indoor plumbing out there, I may never see him again.”  Great idea honey, that might just be the final crowning touch.  Like the T-shirt says:  “Now that I’m retired, I can do what ever I want…just as long as there is a bathroom nearby!”

Son of a Beech 18

By Sam Longo AME A&P

Although I have never actually left terra firma in a Beech 18, as fate would have it, I quite possibly have more cockpit ground-run time in one than many seasoned pilots.

The Beechcraft Model 18 prototype first flew on January 15, 1937. After more than 9000 aircraft were rolled out, the Wichita Kansas company ceased production of the venerable twin tailed, twin in 1970. Its record still stands today, as the longest running, continuous production piston aircraft in aviation history.

Speaking of history, Centennials E18S Model was the queen of their fleet for most of my tenure teaching at the college, only recently upstaged by a newer Beechcraft King Air. Given proper care and feeding that old “Bug smasher” never failed to start and run like a champ. A true testament to the tried and true combination of Pratt and Whitney R985 engines mated to bulletproof Hamilton Standard Hydromatic propellers.

The second year students couldn’t wait for their turn to do a ground run, usually slated for early spring, just before graduation. Pushing the throttles to full power, unleashing all 900 Horsepower, became a rite of passage and if it set off the car alarms in the adjacent parking lot, all the better. For the few foolish instructors that ventured forth to run it, the starting ritual became ingrained in our memories. Like a finicky antique British motorcycle, the old girl rewarded a familiar touch with consistently clean starts (if you can call a thick shroud of white smoke, a clean start!)

During 22 years of teaching in Centennial Colleges Aerospace Dept. I did thousands of ground runs with many thousands of students and despite my NOW poor hearing and weak kidneys the starting drill remains crystal clear. Without the benefit of a checklist, it went something like this….

Once the aircraft was fueled and oiled, it would be nosed into the wind and chocked. With magneto switches verified OFF the props were pulled though a minimum of two complete revolutions to check for hydraulic lock.

Once inside the cockpit with two students, the process began. Parking Brake on and set. Fuel selectors on. All circuit breakers checked.

Engine prep; Cowl flaps full open, Oil Cut-Off open, Oil Coolers in Bypass, Manifold heat to Cold, Props full fine, Mixture full rich, Throttle #1 cracked slightly open (half a knob), Master and Battery switches ON.

Establish “All Clear” from the posted fireguard to start port engine. Select #1 electric boost pump on. Verify fuel pressure on gauge. Engine select switch to #1 position.

Hold down Start and Induction Vibrator buttons and count passing of 4 to 5 prop blades, then while simultaneously holding the electric prime button, switch on both Magnetos. As soon as the engine catches, release all three buttons and check for oil pressure. Turn electric boost pump off (EDP takes over). Increase engine RPM slightly to clear plugs and warm up engine. Repeat entire procedure for Starboard engine.

Once both engines had Oil and Cylinder temps in the “green” all standard parameter checks were carried out; live magneto check, mag drop check, idle check, manifold heat, prop cycling, generator checks etc. Once the process got rolling we could initiate about 3 to 4 students per hour, often for many hours at a time. Though often hot and always noisy the ground runs remained an enjoyable perk of my teaching routine. For some students it was clearly overwhelming. Fortunately most took it in stride and gleaned all they could from the experience, while we patiently guided them through the process, struggling to communicate over the din of the barely muffled radial engines.

This past spring I was at a shopping mall not far from Centennials Ashtonbee Campus. As I came out of a store, I heard a familiar sound in the distance, and it was the very first time I felt any remorse from my retirement. The Beech 18 was wailing away at full power, and I was just a little melancholy, knowing that someone else was having all the fun. It was a great old airplane and a terrific job with many great memories. Running that classic Beech 18 will always remain one of the highlights. I guess I’ll always have a soft spot for round engines that drip oil. Despite many years of working on airliners with modern turbine engines, my heart still gravitates towards vintage piston engines like those good old Pratt and Whitney R985’s.

 Who knows, one of these days I may actually go for a flight in a Beech 18. It’s definitely on the bucket list, but until then I will count myself as one lucky “Son of a Beech” to have had 22 fabulous years to play with one.

Flying High In Seven Heaven!

It all began one evening at Air Canada as we towed a Boeing 727 to the hangar for the night shift.  My friend and fellow aircraft mechanic, Paul and I, were talking cars.  “How’s the BMW running?” I asked.  “It’s for sale”, he replied, “I am buying a Super Seven”.  His statement caught me off guard and my envy was immediate as he fed me the details.  “It’s a Canadian-made Lotus Super Seven replica with a Toyota sixteen hundred twin cam engine, twin Solex carbs and a five-speed gearbox.  It will do 0 to 60 in six seconds and it’s affordable!”  It sounded too good to be true.  His next statement sealed my fate, “Sam, you should go up and see this guy’s shop.”

George Fejer had a small shop in Newmarket Ontario just north of Toronto. Smitten with curiosity I ventured up for a peek on my next set of days off. Well, I have seen tidier shops in my time, but none so beautiful.  These perfect little Lotus replicas were rolling out, and people were buying them up as fast as they could be built.  I was hooked! 

You have to be pretty crazy to buy a Super Seven in the best of climates. With no heater and limited protection from the elements, the word obsessed comes to mind. None of that mattered now, our emotions had clearly clouded our normal intelligence Paul sold his mint, modified BMW 2002.  I sold my Mustang Cobra and we ordered two of the Twin Cam versions. 

A rusty old Honda Civic was purchased as my winter transport and the wait began.  As I recovered from horsepower withdrawal, I fabricated a custom walnut dashboard for my Seven, with the help of my friend, Peter.  Many other parts were removed from the unfinished car for chroming.  The front A-arms, springs, roll bar, grill, and other bits were plated and reinstalled.  A good friend returned from England with a lovely, walnut Lotus shift knob.  An Architect in California sent me reproduction MGA twin cam badges for the dash and engine cowl.  Slowly, it all came together.

Spring finally arrived and so did the cars.  Paul’s Seven was dark metallic gray with black interior and mine was British Leyland blue with chrome and wood trim.  Original Lotus crests from San Francisco and stainless steel fender guards finished the detailing. 

Our own modifications continued, some to make the cars better and others to set them right.  We formed our own quality control organization.  When I found a problem, I’d tell Paul, and he would do the same.  We had lengthy discussions about differential failures, loose carb jet holders, fried alternators, and broken throttle cables.  We would put them up on blocks in the winter, and try desperately to keep them off the blocks in the summer.

I diligently keep a logbook of every repair and modification.  It’s pages filled fast.  It amazed me how a Canadian replica, with Japanese internals could be so true to its unreliable British sports car roots.  It broke a lot, I fixed it often and drove it with abandon every chance I could.

Our fellow aircraft mechanics had mixed reactions.  When the cars were broken, they all thought Paul and I were crazy.  When the cars were running and we wailed out of the parking lot, smoking tires, we only confirmed their suspicions.  The senior mechanic on my crew took me aside one day and with fatherly advice said, “If I owned that car, I would never drive it that hard.”  My response was honest, “If you owned it for more than a week, you just couldn’t help yourself.”  Its power and handling was infectious.

It was a dream, come true. They were the holy grail of bare bones performance sports cars.  It was loud, brash, pretty, and very fast.  Whenever it was standing still, it attracted a crowd.  When it was rolling, hunting for Porsche on warm Toronto nights, it was absolute heaven on wheels. 

Reality soon caught up with me.  When my son Spencer was born, responsibilities prevailed and the Seven had to be sold.  My last jaunt was a brisk November delivery from Toronto to its new owner in Montreal.  In Quebec, I turned the key for the last time, tried to ignore the backache, and signed the papers.  I climbed aboard an Air Canada 727 and was back at home before my kidneys had fully thawed. 

The small profit I made on the car was not important.  The experience of owning that car remains a treasured memory.  Its new owner, a true Super Seven fanatic, gives it nothing but the best, and this warms my heart.