Three-Point or Wheel Landing: This is the Question -

June 17, 2026

If you spend much time around RV-8 pilots, it won't take long before somebody brings up the old debate about three-point landings versus wheel landings. Before long, everybody has an opinion, and most of them are convinced theirs is the right one. The truth is that both techniques work well in the RV-8 when they're executed properly. However, after years of discussion among experienced RV-8 pilots, a general consensus seems to emerge: while proficiency in both techniques is important, many pilots eventually come to favor a tail-low wheel landing as the airplane's most natural arrival.

The three-point landing is the traditional tailwheel touchdown. You're easing the airplane onto the runway right at the stall, with the mains and tailwheel touching down at about the same time. Pilots who favor the three-point landing appreciate the slower touchdown speed, shorter rollout, and the satisfaction that comes from arriving fully stalled and ready to roll out. When everything comes together just right, it's one of the most rewarding landings a tailwheel pilot can make.

A good three-point landing requires patience. The temptation is often to force the airplane onto the runway, but the RV-8 generally rewards pilots who simply keep flying a few inches above the pavement and allow the airplane to settle when it's ready. Done properly, the touchdown can be nearly imperceptible.

That said, the RV-8 is somewhat unique among tailwheel airplanes. Many pilots find that a full three-point attitude feels slightly awkward. The sight picture can seem unusual, particularly for pilots transitioning from other tailwheel aircraft. It often feels as though the nose is higher than expected, requiring a fair amount of trust because forward visibility becomes limited. If even a little excess speed remains, the airplane may reward the pilot with a skip or bounce before finally settling.

Part of this stems from the RV-8's efficient wing and clean aerodynamics. These airplanes simply do not like to stop flying. Even after initial contact, the wing may still be producing enough lift to keep the airplane light on its wheels if speed has not been completely dissipated. As a result, many pilots find that consistently achieving a true full-stall three-point landing requires more precision than it does in older, draggier tailwheel aircraft.

For that reason, many experienced RV-8 pilots prefer what is often described as a tail-low wheel landing. Rather than arriving in a full three-point attitude, the airplane is flown onto the mains with the tail only slightly elevated. The touchdown occurs under positive control with a small amount of remaining airspeed, and as the aircraft decelerates, the tailwheel settles naturally onto the runway.

This technique seems to fit the RV-8's personality particularly well. Visibility over the nose remains better, directional control is excellent, and the airplane tends to feel more planted during the transition from flight to rollout. Many pilots report that the RV-8 simply behaves better when allowed to touch down this way rather than being coaxed into a perfect full-stall arrival.

The tail-low wheel landing also allows the pilot to remain ahead of the airplane. Instead of waiting for the aircraft to completely quit flying, the pilot maintains positive control all the way through touchdown and rollout. A small amount of forward stick pressure after touchdown helps keep the mains firmly planted until aerodynamic forces naturally diminish and the tail settles.

Crosswinds are where this technique particularly shines. When a gusty Texas afternoon breeze is blowing across the runway, many RV-8 pilots feel they have better authority and greater confidence by touching down on the mains first and keeping the airplane flying under control until it is firmly established on the runway. Rudder effectiveness remains strong, and the airplane generally tracks straighter throughout the landing roll.

Of course, wheel landings are not without their challenges. They require good timing and smooth control inputs. If the airplane is allowed to rebound or if the pilot begins chasing a bounce with aggressive pitch corrections, things can deteriorate quickly. As with most aspects of flying the RV-8, smoothness and patience are usually rewarded.

They also tend to use somewhat more runway than a properly executed three-point landing. On most paved runways frequented by RV pilots this is rarely a concern, but it may become a factor on shorter strips where every foot matters.

Runway condition plays a role as well. On smooth pavement, either technique works exceptionally well. On grass strips or rougher surfaces, some pilots still favor a true three-point landing because the slower touchdown speed reduces loads and minimizes the tendency to skip. Others continue to prefer a tail-low wheel landing because of the excellent directional control it provides. Once again, pilot experience and comfort often drive the decision.

After talking with RV-8 pilots over the years, the consensus seems fairly clear. Most experienced pilots are comfortable performing both techniques and understand when each is appropriate. Yet if forced to choose only one landing style for everyday operations, many would likely select the tail-low wheel landing. It appears to complement the RV-8's aerodynamic characteristics, visibility limitations, and handling qualities particularly well.

Perhaps that's why the debate never really gets settled. Every RV-8 pilot eventually develops a favorite, but most admit there are situations where either technique can be the right answer. The truly proficient pilot does not view three-point and wheel landings as competing philosophies. Instead, they are simply tools available for different conditions.

In the end, the goal is not proving that one method is superior. The goal is being proficient enough to use either one whenever conditions warrant. Around the hangar, you'll hear plenty of opinions, but many experienced RV-8 pilots seem to agree on one thing: the airplane—and its pilots—often appear happiest arriving in a well-executed tail-low wheel landing.

And if that landing is smooth enough that your passenger doesn't realize you've touched down yet, well, that's even better.

The First 10 Hours in an RV -

April 29, 2026

There’s a moment in every pilot’s transition into an RV when the pace picks up and the airplane starts to feel a step ahead. It’s not misbehavior—it’s precision. The airplane is doing exactly what it was designed to do, responding quickly, carrying energy efficiently, and revealing every habit you bring with you. Those first 10 hours matter because they shape how you’ll fly the airplane from that point forward. The most important lesson shows up almost immediately: airspeed discipline is everything. In an RV, a little fast isn’t just a little fast—it’s excess energy that has to go somewhere, usually into float and runway you didn’t plan to use. Flying the correct speeds, every time, is the foundation everything else builds on.

Part of that discipline is understanding that the RV line is not one-size-fits-all when it comes to approach behavior. As a general rule:

“The RV line splits into two personalities—sport airplanes that reward a slightly steeper, disciplined approach, and touring airplanes that are more forgiving but will carry energy longer and tempt pilots into flatter finals.”

The conventional-wing RVs—the -3, -4, -6, -7, and -8—tend to feel more stable and predictable when flown on a slightly steeper approach. The -9, -14, and -10 lean more toward a forgiving, stable profile, but even those benefit from a modestly steeper descent than many pilots initially fly. Propeller type plays into it as well, but regardless of configuration, the airplane rewards a profile that keeps you ahead of it rather than trying to fix energy late.

That’s where a common habit shows up - especially with newer RV pilots. On final, the speed starts to creep up. It’s subtle at first. Whether it’s comfort with control feel or just a natural tendency to avoid getting slow, many pilots let the airplane accelerate in the last portion of the approach. In an RV, that’s not a harmless habit. It directly leads to long landings, inconsistent touchdowns, and problems on shorter runways. More importantly, it breaks the rhythm of a stable approach. Discipline matters here. The goal isn’t just to get on the runway, it’s to arrive there the same way every time, at the correct speed, on the correct glide path.

The sight picture reinforces all of this. If you’re coming out of a Cessna or Piper, what you see over the nose will not match what you’re used to. Many pilots initially fly the RV too flat, which feeds directly into that tendency to carry extra speed. Learning the proper visual reference - and trusting it - is a turning point. Once that clicks, the airplane starts to settle into place. The controls demand the same kind of restraint. RVs are light and responsive, and they don’t require large inputs. If you find yourself making big corrections, you’re likely over-controlling. The airplane responds best to small, deliberate pressures that let it stabilize rather than chasing it.

Energy management ties it all together. The RV will hold speed longer than you expect, so slowing down isn’t something you fix on short final—it’s something you plan for early, starting on downwind and base. By the time you’re established on final, the work should generally be done. That also helps manage the feeling that the pattern is compressed. Everything happens quicker, and new RV pilots often feel rushed. The answer isn’t to speed up, it’s to think ahead, and to stay in front of the airplane instead of reacting to it.

Perfection isn’t the goal in those first 10 hours, consistency is. The same speeds, the same glide path, the same sight picture, repeated until they become natural. Confidence grows out of that repetition, and precision follows. The RV isn’t a difficult airplane; it’s an honest one. It gives you exactly what you ask for, no more and no less. If you respect that, stay disciplined, and commit to consistent approach performance, those first 10 hours won’t just be a transition, they’ll be the foundation for everything that comes after.

Aircraft Flying Tool Kits -

April 6, 2026

To those who know me, this will come as no surprise: I suffer from a few anxieties. Not the dramatic kind, but the quiet, persistent sort that show up at inconvenient times. A slice of cake flipping upside down onto its icing while being served. Running late to church. Tools not being placed back into their proper locations in the tool chest. And of course, the modern fear of leaving your cell phone at home. I’m not sure how I managed before the late ’90s, but today the idea of heading anywhere without a charged phone feels like a poor life decision.

Now that we’ve set the stage, let’s talk about one of my flying concerns. That would be not having a proper emergency tool kit onboard—especially when venturing any real distance from the home airfield. A quick local flight doesn’t bother me much. But stretch the radius a bit, and I want that kit within reach.

That mindset wasn’t born out of theory. It came from experience.

Once, on a flying vacation some eight hundred miles from home, I had a flat tire. There I was, far from anything familiar, reminded that mechanical problems don’t care where you are or what you had planned. They just show up. Since then, I’ve had a hard time enjoying any trip—by air or by road—without the means to deal with a reasonable amount of trouble myself.

Airplanes reinforce that lesson. On one trip, I had to change out a switch away from home. Nothing glamorous, but when a small electrical component quits a hundred miles from your hangar, it suddenly becomes the most important part on the airplane. Having the tools and a few spare parts turned what could have been a grounded trip into a short delay.

I’ve seen it play out with others, too. One friend had a broken exhaust while away from home. With a little creativity and just enough confidence to proceed, we wrapped the break with metal cut from a can and secured it well enough for him to fly about thirty miles home. Not pretty, but effective.

Another friend had a similar failure. This time, we used the tool kit to disassemble the broken exhaust, flew the pieces home for repair, then returned and reassembled everything where the airplane sat. It wasn’t quick, but it worked. And that’s the point—when you have tools, you have options. Without them, you’re just standing there hoping the problem fixes itself.

That philosophy doesn’t stop at the airport. I often take the tool kit with me in the rental car at the destination. Over time, I’ve used it to fix all kinds of small issues away from the airplane—things that would otherwise turn into inconveniences or delays. A few tools can turn a problem into nothing more than a short pause.

Because of that, I’ve become intentional about what I carry. The goal is simple: combine functions and minimize weight.

At the heart of the kit is a good knife or multi-tool—the kind that can do a little bit of everything. I carry a compact bit driver with Torx and various screwdriver tips, covering most of what I’m likely to encounter. A set of locking pliers serves double duty, functioning both as a clamp and as a standard pair of pliers. I keep a small set of flat open-end wrenches—nothing excessive, just the sizes that matter on the airplane.

Beyond tools, I carry materials. Sections of stranded wire, a handful of common fasteners, washers, and nuts that match what’s typically used on the airplane. A couple of general-duty switches, connectors, and crimp fittings—small items, but often the difference between being stuck and being mobile.

There’s a section of heavy-duty duct tape, because experience has proven that duct tape earns its place in any kit. A tube of epoxy repair putty for those situations where something needs to be held together just long enough to get home. Cable ties—more useful than they have any right to be. A pair of nitrile gloves, because sometimes the job gets messy.

And in writing all this out, I realized I had overlooked two items that absolutely belong in the kit: an old pair of reading glasses—for those of us who need them—and a surplus sick sack. One helps you see what you’re fixing. The other…well, it helps you deal with everything else.

All of this, surprisingly, comes in at about six to seven pounds total. Not insignificant, but not excessive either—especially when you consider what it can save you. The entire kit packs neatly into a roll-style tool bag, compact and organized (courtesy of the RAF!) One photo shows everything laid out—the full inventory in plain view. The other shows it packed, rolled up, and ready to go. It’s a small footprint for a lot of capability.

I don’t stop at tools. The kit also includes a few basic survival items: a rescue mirror, two thermal blankets, and a way to make fire - a flint and steel or at least a lighter. None of it weighs much, and I hope none of it is ever needed. But airplanes have a way of taking you over places where self-reliance matters.

Some might call this overthinking. They may not be wrong. But I’ve found that a little anxiety, properly channeled, turns into preparation. It turns into options. It turns into the quiet confidence that when something goes wrong far from home, you’re not entirely at the mercy of it.

So yes, I like my tools put back where they belong. I don’t like leaving home without a phone. And I don’t like traveling far without a proper kit. Because somewhere between experience and a little bit of worry, I’ve learned this: you may not be able to prevent things from breaking—but you can be ready when they do.