Bridging the Gap Between Fairy-Tale Reliability and Fully Grounded Airplane

I myself contribute to this on my own Instagram feed. There, I’ve got some cool drone video of a landing at my lush airfield on a pleasant summer evening, photos from fall apple orchard fly-ins, and many scenes illuminated by party lights beneath my wing at AirVenture. I have indeed experienced some epic times.

But don’t be fooled. While aircraft ownership certainly entails many of those things, the grim reality is that, for those of us with unremarkable salaries, it also subjects us to financial stress and extended periods of frustration from which we wonder whether we’ll ever extricate ourselves. For me, the worst by far was the cowl plug incident that occurred on my first flight in my airplane and resulted in a top overhaul.

Bridging the gap between periods of fairy-tale reliability and a fully grounded airplane are extended periods of chasing down confounding but noncritical mechanical issues. Requiring massive amounts of time and troubleshooting, these can be profoundly annoying. And I happen to be in the middle of one right now.

The issue of concern is an oil leak. A relatively substantial one. And while quite a few other owners will enthusiastically bring up the old adage that an old Continental without any oil leaks is an old Continental without any oil, there’s a threshold beyond which a leak transitions from routine to concerning. And at nearly half a quart of oil lost per hour, I’ve crossed that threshold. 

Upon discovering the leak, I took it upon myself to ground the airplane—at least until I could have it addressed. As this occurred in early December, the holidays pushed my mechanic’s availability out into January. After a few delays, it was early February before he was actually able to make it to my hangar.

His findings were promising. The oil appeared to be originating from the oil temperature sensor, which was indeed slightly loose. While in there, he also snugged up the accessory case bolts just to be on the safe side. It was finally time for a shakedown flight, and I was looking forward to it.

Striking blue skies, a light breeze, and ample sun made the 26 degrees feel a lot warmer than it was. I was eager to determine whether the oil leak had been addressed—and after two months without any flying, I was also eager to see whether I could still be trusted at the controls of a taildragger.

As expected, my first trip around the pattern and first landing were both slightly sloppy, but I was able to brush the rust off quickly enough and soon began to enjoy myself. More importantly, the engine indications were rock solid, right where they should be. And I was watching them like a hawk.

In general, and particularly during post-maintenance flights like this, I have come to appreciate my Garmin GI 275 EIS engine monitor significantly. Whereas my old steam gauges tended to be somewhat reactive, displaying only established red flags, the Garmin makes it easy to spot emerging trends. This gives me confidence that I’ll be able to divert to a nearby airfield before a concern becomes an emergency.

With this in mind, I opted to head over to a farmer’s nearby private strip on the other side of town. I had reached out to him last fall, and after a friendly chat, he granted me permission to visit whenever it was convenient. At only 3 miles from my home airfield, I figured the trip wouldn’t be too risky as part of a postmaintenance shakedown flight where I’d typically stay in the pattern.

Fortunately, all went well. His airstrip is a fun one, with a couple of hills along the 2,300-foot length, of which I used about a third. Whenever visiting a friend’s private strip, you need to be prepared to shut down and get out for a visit should you see them there in person. But with no souls to be seen on the farm, I returned home to inspect the engine.

Back at my hangar, I did so—only to discover the very same oil leak that I was hoping had been addressed. As before, the entire lower left corner of the accessory case was wet and dripping near the oil temperature probe. A look at the oil level revealed the same amount of oil loss as before—approximately half a quart per hour. 

And so, I remain solidly camped out in maintenance purgatory. Yes, my airplane runs well and can be trusted for short flights in the pattern or to a mechanic. But no, it’s not in good enough condition to feel comfortable embarking upon anything more significant than that. It’s airworthy, but not airworthy enough—a thoroughly annoying situation.

The next steps? Schedule yet another appointment with a mechanic and then brace myself for their findings. The spark of hope that it will turn out to be something as simple as a crush washer replacement is dimmed somewhat by the grim foreboding that it could just as easily turn out to be a serious issue requiring a $40,000 engine overhaul. 

This disheartening cloud of annoyance and uncertainty hanging over my airplane absolutely defines airplane ownership. It’s not something that ever appears on social media, but it’s a safe bet that every owner—of modest means, anyway—will encounter it at some point. And when it does, all one can do is reflect upon the comparatively carefree flying that has preceded it and hope those days return again soon.