When I was a kid, I was a huge football fan.
I played midget football with great gusto. Some parts of the country call it pee-wee football. Whatever you might call it, football is football. Although the talent exhibited by a group of 10 year olds is noticeably less than that seen at your local college or in the pro ranks.
By the time high school rolled around my affection for the game had not waned a bit. I tried out and made the team. But there was a problem I had not anticipated.
As a freshman I stood a diminutive 4 feet 11 inches tall and weighed in at a disappointing 98 pounds. My peers were considerably taller and heavier.
It’s fair to say that was a painful year, both physically and emotionally. Puberty hadn’t done much to build my size in the weeks before sophomore year, so I switched my allegiance to playing music. A far less painful endeavor, at least in the physical sense.
Weight matters. Few of us give much thought to the idea, but we’ve all seen what happens when someone loads a trailer with the bulk of the weight too far aft. The fishtailing combination of truck and trailer losing control at high speed is memorable. Even terrifying.
It really makes no difference if we’re loading the family car, a pickup truck, a boat, or an airplane. Weight affects performance. Sometimes positively. Sometimes negatively. Sometimes catastrophically.
This reality has become all too apparent in aviation over the years. Several transport category aircraft have come crashing to the ground in tragic fashion after the load in their hold shifted aft during rotation. To have that much weight suddenly move that far takes the CG of the aircraft well past its limits. It’s an unrecoverable situation.
We in the general aviation world rarely consider weight all that much. Certainly, we make an effort during the training phase of our flying career. We even go to great lengths to chart the exact location of our aircraft’s CG for the examiner when we take our check ride.
But in real life, under every day circumstances, far too many of us cast off that rigorous plotting of the weight and balance in favor of the “I’ve flown with a similar load before…let’s go.”
If your airplane is brand new and fitted with only the original equipment, that might be an accurate statement. Should you be the type who flies solo or with just one or two of the same passengers over similar distances, that rough calculation might work reasonably well. I’m not recommending it, mind you. But I can understand how someone might fall into that particular bad habit without feeling they’re cutting corners.
On the other hand, should you fly with a wide variety of people over various distances in an airplane that is older and much modified, how accurate is that assumption likely to be? Is the weight and balance sheet in your Aircraft Flight Manual up to date? Maybe yes. Maybe no.
As any school-aged child knows, five pounds is five pounds. It doesn’t matter what the object is, the weight is the weight. Pilots go a step further, however. Five pounds may be just five pounds, but where you put that five pounds can have a significant effect on the overall handling of the aircraft.
Let’s consider some examples.
The paint in a Cessna 172 is estimated to weigh something like 20 pounds, give or take. That’s not so much. Why consider it? To me it’s worth knowing because I have come across airplanes that were repainted but not stripped first. It’s a cost-saving measure, I’m sure. But that savings could come at the cost of 20 or more additional pounds being added to your airframe.
Little things add up over time.
New upholstery is nice. Especially if you’re the proud owner of an older model airplane with tattered seats, worn carpet, and a sagging headliner. Upgrading your interior could lighten your airplane by a bit. Lighter materials than the original may be available and appealing. Then again, heavier materials are available too. Which did you choose?
Many of us fly airplanes that originally came with a single radio, if it had a radio at all. Limited lighting was common, too. Over the years the idea of a panel upgrade and the installation of LED lights — and who knows what else — can become desirable. All of which can add to or lessen the overall weight of the airplane.
And while we don’t necessarily think of those small items as having a profound effect — they just might.
Which leads us to a factor we tend to shrug off as immaterial — and it may be. Or it might not be. I reference the weight of the pilot and passengers.
When I started flying in the mid-1980s I was about 50 pounds lighter than I am today. I’ve fought the battle of the bulge for many years, but mostly to a stalemate or a minor loss. Which means my beloved J-3 Cubs have presented me with a math problem to be taken seriously. The weight of the aircraft may not have changed in 80 years, but mine has. Very often my passenger’s has, too.
Sure, I can offload fuel to get into the acceptable CG range, but if my passenger is my size, we won’t have enough fuel left onboard to taxi to the hold short line.
It’s easy and relatively cost effective to weigh an airplane. There’s no reason that minor task can’t be rolled into the annual inspection just to be sure. Or it can be done as a stand-alone activity.
Considering the importance of weight and its distribution, and our own tendency to pack on a few pounds over the years, it’s worth considering.
“I’ve flown with a similar load before,” may not be quite as accurate a calculation as we might think.
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