Flying in aerobatic contests is a rather specialized pastime and there are fewer than 1,000 pilots in the USA who do it. Participation is not limited by difficulty. The maneuvers are no more demanding than the recreational form and involve the usual combinations of rolls, loops and spins. The difference is that in a contest you have to do all these inside a “Box”, 3300 feet square and 2000 feet high, with the floor of the Box 1500 feet above the ground. The lateral dimensions of the box are the biggest problem. It takes about 15 seconds to fly completely through it, so remaining within its bounds is a challenge, particularly if there's a crosswind, and you are performing before a panel of judges. Competition is generally friendly.

Aerobatics Course Completed I completed the aerobatics course November 10, 2004. Did a couple random maneuvers and then a competition type sequence of loop leading directly into hammerhead turn leading directly into Immelman leading directly into a one turn spin, any one of which would have scared the piss out of me before I began all this.

Pilots are more concerned with bettering their own performance than beating anyone else. During practice periods it's commonplace to hear one pilot on the ground coaching another in the air, offering feedback and suggestions. But it's competition nonetheless and everyone wants to do as well as possible. A disappointing score, or critical comments by a judge, can rankle.

There is also the time commitment. A contest typically takes place over a long weekend - Thursday for setup, Friday for registration and practice, Saturday and Sunday for the competition flying. There's usually a banquet Saturday night, and an awards ceremony Sunday. And you still have to get home.

There are only so many places suitable for hosting an event, and you'll probably have to travel some distance to get to one. The airport has to be big enough to support the 15-20 airplanes and 40-50 people who show up, but small enough that it can be effectively shut down while the competition is taking place. The Box is usually located along one of the runways which disrupts the airport traffic pattern - a formal, temporary change to the pattern is ordered in advance from the FAA - and there are volunteers and vehicles and airplanes moving all over the surface.

There are about 30 contests a year, most of them regional events run by local clubs. A typical pilot might fly in three or four such events per season, traveling an average of 300 miles to get to each one. A national championship is held once a year, and world championships every two years.

The competition is unusually democratic in that contestants decide for themselves which class they'll enter - there are five such classes ranging from Primary to Unlimited - and men and women compete as equals. Primary is the entry level and is structured to encourage pilots to give it a try, and acclimate them to the contest environment. There are only six, comparatively undemanding figures in the sequence, there is no penalty for being slightly “out of bounds”, and you can even take an instructor along with you as a Safety Pilot.

Aresti Diagram of the Primary Sequence: One Turn Spin, Loop, _ Cuban Eight, Slow Roll, Competition Turn

The Primary Sequence is shown in the above figure. The sequence is drawn as a series of Aresti figures, named after Colonel Jose Luis de Aresti Aguirre who devised a notational system for describing aerobatics. The figures are numbered in the order in which they are to be performed. Each figure begins with the solid dot, and ends with a small cross hatch. Solid lines are upright flight; dashed lines are inverted. Arrows generally indicate a roll, and so on.

The Primary Sequence begins with a one turn spin. A spin is a form of stall in which the aircraft is yawed so that one wing provides more lift than the other. This results in a rapid, nose down autorotation. The idea is to stop the rotation after 360 degrees, on the original heading, with the aircraft's nose pointing straight at the ground. At this point, you open the throttle wide and use the combined acceleration to gain speed for the remainder of the sequence. This takes some getting used to.

The loop is pretty simple. The _ Cuban Eight is 5/8 of a loop, which leaves you inverted on a 45 degree downline, whereupon you roll upright and pull out of the dive, hopefully with some extra energy to carry into the Slow Roll. The various segments of each figure, and the intervals between the figures, are supposed to be punctuated with a distinct, straight line flight segment. The judges will be favorably impressed if you do these crisply.

After you've gotten your feet wet in Primary, it's expected that you'll graduate to Sportsman, and thereafter continue up the levels as your skills and equipment allow. At each new level the sequences are longer, the maneuvers more difficult, and the rules stiffer. Intermediate begins to challenge the airplane itself, requiring higher “G” loads, and more powerful engines. By the time you reach Advanced or Unlimited, you are probably a full time professional flying a purpose built airplane.

The number of people required to run one of these contests is impressive. There are five judges, plus a Chief Judge, each requiring an Assistant, who reads the sequence sheets and tells the judge which figure is coming next, and a Recorder who notes the scores and any comments the judge might make.

Judging teams ready for work. Each Judge has an Assistant to read off the sequence, and a Recorder to note scores and comments

In addition, there are Boundary Judges, usually one at each corner of the box, Runners to carry score sheets back and forth, Scorers to enter the raw numbers into a computer, a Starter to ensure a steady stream of contestants, and a Registrar who manages all the paperwork and decides the flight order.

Most of these jobs are performed by the competitors themselves, the exception being Scorer to prevent any conflict of interest. If you are not flying in a particular class, you can volunteer for whatever needs doing. Doing so is part of the deal. Besides, it's better than just sitting around. My instructor Rob Holland had warned me, “If you only fly your 20-30 minutes, you'll have entirely missed the point of it all. Get involved, meet people, and have fun.”

The most critical jobs are Chief Judge, Registrar, and Volunteer Coordinator. The Chief Judge conducts the contest, briefing pilots as to the rules, instructing volunteers in their duties, issuing orders to the Starter to get through each class as efficiently as possible, communicating with pilots in the air telling them when to enter and exit the Box, talking to the Boundary Judges as necessary, and directing the scoring judges. In good weather, flying begins about 8:00 am and continues without a break until dinner time. It's a long, hard job, and it takes a lot of experience, knowledge, organization and tact to do it well.

The Registrar is responsible for all the paperwork, making sure the myriad of forms are properly filled out, inspections completed, and flight orders assigned. Rob Petit did the honors at Springfield. The flight orders are further complicated by pilots in a given class who share an airplane. The ground turnaround, as one pilot replaces another, places special constraints on scheduling.

Ann Salcedo filling out the volunteer board.

The most difficult task of all is that of the Volunteer Coordinator. Ann affects a Ditzy Blonde persona, but there isn't a better Volunteer Coordinator in the country. My guess is she could do the Sunday Times crossword in her head. This is the person who has to assign jobs to the various volunteers, keeping in mind the priorities of each assignment (in case there aren't enough people to go around), who is flying in which class and is therefore ineligible for duty during that time block, individual arrival and departure schedules, and matching experience level to requirements. Ann Salcedo came up from Florida to get things organized. The Coordinator may also be charged with ferrying the volunteers to and from the working positions. It's an exhausting and largely thankless job.

After all the stuff was unloaded, we moved out to survey and place the Box markers alongside Runway 5-23. The corners and side midpoints of the Box are marked by “L” and “T” shapes respectively, created by arranging 3'-50' strips of white nylon cloth to the ground, and staking them in place. On the ground, these marks are delicate, and, I was to discover later, can even be hard to spot.absurdly large and coarse. From the air, they appear

Rob Petit managing the myriad of forms required for the contest to run smoothly.

We used a combination of measuring wheel and handheld GPS to get the dimensions right. The previous year, Steve had measured off the distance by counting runway lights. It was only after the contest was over that he learned those particular lights were spaced 166' apart, instead of the usual 200'. He was still burning from the criticism and complaints.

Friday began the actual contest, with registration in the morning and practice in the afternoon. I registered early, but couldn't complete the forms because I didn't know for certain which airplane I would fly. I was planning to use “8AC”, the Super Decathalon managed by Aerial Advantage in which I had been training. The original plan was for it to be ferried over from Nashua “early Friday morning”, which I hoped would give me a chance to at least see the Box from the air during the practice session that afternoon. But problems began to develop. For one thing, the weather did not cooperate.

Pilots at the terminal main desk checking on the weather. We did a lot of checking this weekend.

The Springfield airport was open, but ceilings were low and a strong easterly flow left the areas south of us completely socked in. Airplanes began trickling in with obviously relieved pilots swapping stories about “scud-running”, weaving through the southern Vermont hills beneath the clouds and mist. [Picture: CheckingWeather.jpg - Caption:

The weather remained bad throughout the day, and I was further dismayed when one of the 8AC ferry pilots showed up in his car. He explained that the airplane had been grounded by the FAA because of a problem with the control cables. Better safe than sorry, of course, but it began to look as though I might not fly at all. Another Decathalon from Executive Flyers, a competing flight school, was still expected at the contest, but the six or so pilots originally signed up for 8AC, when added to those from Executive, might be more than could be scheduled.

Pilots Briefing was scheduled for “7:00 AM Sharp!” Saturday morning. I arrived 15 minutes early, only to find the parking lot mostly empty and a sign on the terminal building door announcing a postponement to 8:00 AM. In the parking lot, I met Paul Rice, manager of 5B3, Danielson, Connecticut. During the self-introductions, I mentioned the 8AC grounding. Paul said he had a Super Decathalon on the way, and his insurance allowed rentals. I asked for a slot.

Shortly before 8:00 AM, the briefing was postponed to 9:00, and by 9:00 had been put off until 10:00, and so on throughout the morning. Meanwhile, pilots and airplanes were sneaking in under the scud. Registration continued and inspections began.

There was activity everywhere. Occasionally someone would start and engine for a warm up, or to just get up and fly around the airport once or twice. Everyone was seeing and being seen. I was particularly struck by the exhaust note of Dennis Thompson's Edge 540 which included a heavy bass rumble, reminiscent of a large cabin cruiser motoring slowly through a marina. Dennis admitted that he'd “made a few modifications” in a quest for more power. Eventually Paul's Decathalon arrived and I went over to take a look. [Picture

Paul Rice's Super Decathalon”

:] N31X was several years older than 8AC, but obviously well maintained. The seat cushion was several inches thicker than what I'm used to,which would give me a slightly view over the glaresheild, there were the usual variations in instrument panel layout, and it lacked a sighting grid under the left wing. Otherwise, it looked fine. The sun was still hidden above the murk, but my personal outlook brightened considerably.

I completed my registration, introduced myself to Doug Durand, one of Paul's instructors, and asked him to be my Safety Pilot. I did not lack confidence in my ability to fly the sequence, but doing so in an unfamiliar airplane at a lower altitude than I'd ever attempted was just a bit much. Doug would not provide any instruction or coaching, but it would be a comfort to have him along. If the first flight went well,

I'd do the second one solo. Carlos Almeida, another 8AC refugee, had already been through a contest and elected to fly solo from the start.

The clouds had lifted enough by 1:00 PM that Chief Judge Greg Dungan finally called the briefing. With all the pilots and volunteers gathered around, he went over the rules and standard procedures. A Starter was assigned to each class who would check each pilot and airplane in turn, tell them when to start engine, and explain any last minute traffic pattern changes. Greg also covered the various possible exceptions - what to do in case of radio or mechanical failure, how to take a “Break” during a sequence, and so on. Since the active runway would be between the judges and the Box, he reminded everyone to stay as low as possible.

Following the pilot briefing, Greg summoned the volunteers, particularly those with little or no experience (like me). [Picture: GregBriefingJudges.jpg - Caption: I was assigned as a Boundary Judge, and Greg went over the rules and radio procedures. A call was to be made if a pilot and airplane got completely outside the boundary, and another call when s/he reentered.

Greg Dungan, in the green shirt, briefing the judges before a class. Everyone uses their hands.

No points could be earned unless some part of the airplane is inside the box.

At last the engines began to rumble. The flights were choreographed to keep the Box as busy as possible. At any given time there would be five airplanes in the pipeline. The current contestant would be in the Box, performing. The prior contestant would be reentering the traffic pattern preparatory to landing. The next contestant would be in the air, climbing for altitude and holding in an area near, but safely apart from, the Box. The next contestant after that would be positioning on the taxiway for a runup. And the next contestant after that would be receiving final instruction from the Starter prior to starting the engine.

When the current contestant finished, the Chief Judge would summon the next one from the holding area, and everybody would move up a place. Given the late start, it was essential to make the operation as efficient as possible. As it was, the light was failing as the last class finished.

The Primary class flew last in the day, and I had plenty of time to get ready. Since I'd never flown the airplane before, I boarded early to make sure I had everything adjusted as well as possible. As it happened, I wound up spending about 20 minutes in the airplane before the Starter arrived. I felt slightly foolish, but I don't like to be rushed, and sitting there gave me a chance to rehearse the control movements for my sequence.

Pilots prepare themselves for their performance in many different ways. Looking around the ramp you would see some of them, arms outstretched, swooping and turning as they visualized their movements. Others would sit in their cockpits. One lay flat on his back on the tarmac, hands behind his head, his eyes closed. Everyone had plenty to think about.

Eventually, Doug climbed in behind me and the Starter approached. The Starter does a final inspection - parachute, safety harness, radio frequencies, altimeter setting - and then passes along any additional instructions. We closed the door and Doug strapped himself in while I ran through the pre-start checklist. Engine running and intercom adjusted, we moved to the runup area. Doug

Pitts s-1t

answered my occasional questions about the airplane. Otherwise, the routine was familiar and comforting.

Runup complete, we taxied to the active and waited while the landing aircraft cleared the runway. Final check for traffic and we accelerated down the runway, staying low after liftoff until well clear of the judging area, then pitching up in a steep zoom, trading airspeed for altitude. Taking off thus smacks of hot-dog, and perhaps it is, but it's not out of line, given the circumstances.
After turning crosswind, we switched to the Box frequency, and continued to climb. The Primary sequence begins with a spin, so the plan was to enter the Box at maximum allowable altitude, with minimum airspeed. While climbing, Doug pointed out various landmarks and cautioned me against getting too far away from the Box area. “Once they call you, you want to get there quickly”, he said, “They don't like to wait.”

Eventually the call came. Due to the number of shared airplanes, identification was by contestant name instead of tail number. Greg's voice came through the headphones, “Evan Suits, how do you read Chief Judge?”. We answered and Greg cleared us for the Box. Midway along the “base leg” I rolled us inverted for a final safety check. Everything was ready.

My biggest worry was getting the spin right. The stall has to readily apparent, the rotation crisp, you have to finish reasonably close to heading, and then drop straight down until you have sufficient airspeed to get you through the rest of the sequence. I'd been having trouble with spins earlier in the year. Instead of stalling cleanly, the airplane would enter a steep, uncomfortable spiral. Eventually I asked Mike Ganor, one of the instructors at Aerial Advantage, for help. He spotted the problem immediately. “You're waiting too long to initiate”, he said. “Start the spin at 60 mph instead of 45-50. Kick the rudder hard, yank the stick back into your crotch, and hang on.” Thereafter I had no further trouble with the steep spiral. The airplane would nose up briefly, then drop like a rock.

Extra 300L

I was still only batting about .500 in terms of heading, but I this time I got lucky and stopped the rotation more or less square to the Box. Nose down to vertical and slam the throttle open. Hold the vertical downline until 120 mph indicated, then pull. I reached level at 160 mph, about what I needed for the rest of the sequence. The loop and half Cuban went reasonably well; the slow roll was mediocre; the competition turn about right. Less than two minutes after entering the Box, we were done with the sequence and descending into the traffic pattern for landing. As I turned downwind, I heard Doug remark, “Nice spin!”. I felt 10 feet tall.

We landed in time to watch some of the other Primary competitors. Carlos, also flying 31X, had trouble getting started. “I just couldn't make it spin,” he reflected afterward. I passed along Mike's advice. Paul Rice flew last, and had to contend with both enveloping gloom and a panel of judges anxious to quit for the day. Possibly feeling rushed, he forgot the slow roll. It was a long day for everybody.
Sunday morning began with sufficient ceiling, but rain was moving in from the northwest and there was a rush to get things started. Greg repeated the pilot's briefing, and explained that, in an attempt to save a few minutes time, the Primary, Advanced, and Unlimited classes would be merged. Paul asked to fly first so that he could get home to meet his new grandchild. I was next to last.

I was prepared for a certain spirit of cooperation among competitors, but I was still surprised when I saw it actually happening. As soon as Paul opened the door after his flight, he was telling Carlos and me about a nasty crosswind at 3000'. “Start at the far side of the Box, as far upwind of the judges as you can,” he said, “Over the river if you have to.” I reminded Carlos to start his spin earlier. He helped me with the shoulder straps. Real cutthroat stuff. Makes lawn bowling look like gladiatorial combat.

My second flight began with another good spin, but then went rapidly downhill. I was too impatient to fly as far upwind as Paul had suggested, and was already close to the runway and the judges when I exited the loop. As I pulled out of the half Cuban and started the roll, I heard Greg's voice in my ear commanding “Break … Break … Break”. I leveled the wings and exited the box.
Greg then called, “Reposition yourself in the Box and resume the routine.” I climbed for altitude, reversed course, and reentered the

Pitts Special

box. I repeated the half Cuban, as much to save time on the course reversal as anything, did another mediocre slow roll and about two-third's of a competition turn.

I still don't know for sure what went wrong. Either the wind drifted me over therunway, or I veered off heading at the top of the Cuban. Perhaps both. In addition, the accumulated fatigue prevented me from recognizing the error and adjusting my heading or, better still, waggling my wings and taking a Break. The Break only costs five points and, like a go-around on short final, should be one's first alternative when something seems wrong. As it was, I got a zero for the figure, which cost two places in the overall standings. Given the success I'd had with the first flight (probably undeserved) the forced Break on the second one was humiliating. Of course, there's no question which flight was the most educational.
As I was climbing out of the parked airplane, the rain swept across the field and the contest was over.
Trudging glumly towards the terminal building, I ran across Rob Holland who had stopped in on his way back from an airshow. He had a huge grin on his face. “Hey”, he yelled, “Did you have fun?” I tried to explain about the crosswind and the Break and the zero, but he cut me off with a wave. “Never mind all that”, he insisted, his grin getting broader, “DID YOU HAVE FUN?”
I guess I must have. I'm sure going to do it again.