Game On!

TacAero, a flight school specializing in tailwheel and backcountry operations, is now the official factory training partner for Game Aerospace and its GB1 GameBird. Located in Fredericksburg, Texas, at the Gillespie County Airport (T82), approximately an hour’s drive north of San Antonio, TacAero offers pilots the opportunity to get to know the GameBird like the back of their hand. The course, a three-day program with up to 10 hours of dual instruction, is geared toward pilots with tailwheel, high-performance, and complex endorsements, and is packed full of real-world training and situations that focus on safety, technique, and precision. 

Its first-class team, led by Ian Waghorn, ensures that pilots leave the training program feeling confident, competent, and safe in their new or new-to-them GameBird. But don’t worry. If you’re not planning on pulling the trigger on a mid-six-figure GameBird, TacAero doesn’t mind. The school also offers spin endorsements, upset recovery, aerobatic training, and hourly instruction if you’re just itching to check the GameBird off your airplane bucket list. 

Upon my arrival, I was greeted by Tessa Waghorn, Ian’s wife, who serves as the head administrator for TacAero. She walked me through the foyer to the spotless, freshly painted hangar. Positioned perfectly underneath a large, TacAero sign, sat the GameBird in all its glory. Although I haven’t spent much time around GB1s (except for drooling over them while they are on display and flying at airshows) I am always taken aback by how much larger the airplane appears to be in person—particularly, the tall, sweeping rudder that curves down to a sharp point with just enough ground clearance. 

Although dramatic, the looks of the GameBird are not entirely unique. Philipp Steinbach, the designer, brains, and internationally acclaimed aerobatic pilot behind Game Aero-space, derived the looks of his GB1 from one of his previous aircraft designs, his XtremeAir Sbach. The Sbach, a notoriously difficult airplane to fly, challenges even the hardest of hard-core aerobatic pilots. But Steinbach designed the GameBird for almost any tailwheel pilot to be able to fly, and enjoy, instead of having to worry about hurting themselves or the airplane.

“The GB1 is an easy, forgiving airplane that talks to you the entire time,” said Ian Waghorn, who I would be training with throughout my time at TacAero.

Powered by a Lycoming AEIO-580 engine producing 303 hp, this fully certified aircraft is well equipped. And it weighs less than 1,300 pounds.“[It] is almost entirely made of carbon,” said Waghorn. “Basically the only things that aren’t carbon are the engine mount and the gear legs. Ninety-nine percent of the airplane was built here in the United States, at the factory in Bentonville, Arkansas. The four-blade MT propeller is the only exception.” 

And that is no coincidence. Steinbach’s investor, Steuart Walton, (of the Walmart Waltons) “wanted it to be an American airplane. Philipp moved here to the U.S. to combine his aircraft expertise with Steuart’s business expertise.”

Keeping with the American theme, Wichita, Kansas-produced Garmin G3X Touch instrument packages come standard for the front and rear cockpits. An additional Garmin G5 for the pilot and an optional two-axis autopilot round out this patriotic avionics package. 

Unlike other aerobatic airplanes, the GB1 was “designed with more than one purpose,” according to Waghorn. Featuring two 28-gallon wing tanks and an industry-leading 25-gallon acrotank, the GameBird was designed with traveling in mind. A small, but spacious for its category, baggage compartment with enough room for a duffel bag and a backpack (up to 33 pounds) is conveniently tucked away in the fuselage behind the pilot’s seat. Although the airplane was made to handle long cross-countries, that doesn’t make it any less thrill worthy. With a roll rate of 400 degrees per second, and able to withstand plus or minus 10 G’s, the GameBird was meant to be put through the paces.

 “You will break long before the airplane does,” said Waghorn. 

Although my time with TacAero and the GameBird was shorter than the standard, three-day course, my abbreviated training regimen was a condensed, yet comparable version. Not only does TacAero prioritize time in the classroom and the airplane, but they also like to have a little fun. With a fleet of several Super Cubs, Top Cubs, and Carbon Cubs (available for rental or instruction), the TacAero team takes full advantage of its lunch breaks, and that means the customers do too. 

Whether it is a short Cub flight to the north for Cooper’s Bar-B-Que, a true Texas pit grilling experience, or a quick hop over to a makeshift, 1,000-foot grass runway paralleling the road at the local winery, you are sure to be entertained throughout your training. Just make sure to not overindulge, as the GameBird doesn’t care if you enjoyed a little too much brisket. 

After lunch and a couple hours of ground school from Waghorn, I was ready to strap in. Donning a chute and kneeboard full of checklists, I felt like I was getting ready to fly an F-18 rather than a GA taildragger—a stark difference from the low-and-slow flying that I’m used to. The only thing missing was a helmet (which I was offered but declined due to size). As I climbed into the aft pilot’s seat, I was immediately impressed by the minimalistic, clean cockpit and the fit. Not too cramped, but I wasn’t swimming in it either. It felt incredibly natural for an airplane that should have felt very foreign.

As I scanned from left to right, everything was in its logical place. Throttle, prop, mixture, recognition lights (the GameBird is day VFR only), and trim were on the left side of the cockpit. A steam gauge airspeed indicator, Garmin G3X, autopilot, Garmin G5, transponder, fuel selector, accelerometer, and steam gauge altimeter were centered directly in front of me. Lastly, circuit breakers, mags, boost pump, alternator and battery switch, and a few other autopilot and strobe switches were down by my right arm. 

Nothing felt out of the ordinary, other than the large carbon, wing-shaped key in the ignition that was painted to match the aircraft.

“This is an example of the kind of brain Philipp has,” said Ian Waghorn as he removed the key and walked toward the fuel cap at the leading edge of the wing. “You have to use the key to open up the cap, but watch this, you can’t drop the key in.” Waghorn tried to drop the key in the tank every way imaginable. “He thinks of everything,” he said. 

As I adjusted the rudder pedals to my 5-foot-4 frame, Waghorn ran through a few last-minute details before climbing up the wing to the front passenger seat.

“I don’t have a fuel selector up front, but don’t worry about switching it,” he said. “We are just going to keep it on the acrotank the entire flight. My G3X will power up once you start the airplane, and if you want to burn a little smoke oil, you’ll have to do that too. The switch is right on top of the throttle.”

Say no more, I thought. After ensuring my chute and shoulder straps were tight, I ratcheted my padded lap belt down and locked myself in. The small bruises I found along my hips the following day definitely proved that. 

As Waghorn climbed into the front seat, he paid particular attention to holding the side-hinging canopy. The Texas winds were gusting anywhere from 15-25 knots, and like other aerobatic airplanes, the canopy can be easily blown off. After climbing in, he pulled the canopy shut, and we ensured it was latched.

“This is a TacAero policy, even when it is scorching hot, we make sure the canopy is closed and latched before doing anything else,” he said. 

Finally, the moment I had been waiting for had arrived. It was time to feel the GameBird roar to life. With my checklist secured on my kneeboard, I began to go down it line by line. After turning the boost pump on for five seconds, I cracked the throttle and exclaimed “clear prop.” As the starter engaged, the Lycoming roared to life with zero hesitation. I pushed the mixture to full rich and brought the power back to 1,000 rpm. The throaty purr was unmistakable, and it was then when the excitement really started to sink in. 

Taxiing the GameBird to the run-up area was a breeze. Thanks to the large rudder, the airplane responded to pilot input incredibly well. But the game-changer was the taxi camera, which is mounted in the right gear leg. As a bit of a tailwheel purist, I scoffed at the concept. How are pilots ever going to learn to S-turn if they can cheat with a taxi camera? But I had to try it. And wow, it was mind altering to say the least. Although the side-to-side visibility in the GameBird is expansive, it is impossible to see anything in front of the nose, and it doesn’t matter if you’re a pilot or passenger. The only way to ensure you aren’t going to hit something is to S-turn, or if you don’t care about scrutiny, just flip your G3X to the taxi camera screen. 

In the run-up area I performed the normal checks: seat belts, fuel quantity, fuel tank, and ensured the canopy was (again) latched visually and the annunciator was off. I ran the throttle up to 1,700 rpm, checked left and right mags, cycled the propeller, checked oil pressure, and made sure it idled without any problems. I reset the trim to neutral and did a control check. Free and clear. 

It was game time, pun definitely intended. Before rolling out on the runway, I confirmed my plan with Waghorn based on our ground school session earlier in the day.

“I’ll roll out on the runway and slowly bring the power in,” I said. “After a few seconds, I’ll lift the tail and then add full power. I’ll accelerate and rotate at 80, and pitch for 100. If we have any problems, it’s your airplane.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go,” Waghorn replied. 

Lined up on the centerline, I slowly added power, but there wasn’t anything slow about it. Within a couple of seconds, I could feel that the tail was ready to come up, so I added just a touch of forward stick pressure. I was only a couple hundred feet down the runway when I discovered just how touchy this airplane was going to be. 

As soon as the tail was up, I added full power and accelerated to 80 knots and rotated with the tiniest bit of back pressure. Admittedly, it happened so fast, and I was so giddy that I blew straight through my 100-knot climb speed. Before I knew it we had already hit 120 knots. This was no Cub, it was more like a rocket ship propelling me straight into the sky. 

In cruise I pulled the power back to 24 squared, and we headed toward the practice area south of Fredericksburg. I started out by just doing a few simple turns to get the feel of things. It was better to think about doing the movements than to actually do them. The airplane is incredibly sensitive, thanks to sweeping, full-span ailerons and an unnaturally tall stick that exaggerates any and all inputs. But that’s one of the most important features of an airplane with abilities such as this. With the slightest touch, the GameBird will stop at any given bank angle without any fuss, sloppiness, or overshooting. It was darn impressive—and loads of fun.

Next up was slow flight. I slowed the airplane down in stages—starting around 100 knots and working my way back to just before stall speed. After I felt like I had a good feel for the airplane, we went through power-on and power-off stalls. The airplane lets you know, with plenty of warning, that it was not happy. The buffet is incredibly noticeable and begins well in advance of the break at 60 knots. If in some extraordinary situation, you did find yourself in a GB1 stall, it is benign. Stick barely forward, add power, and pitch back up, just like a Cessna 172. It was a nonevent. 

After airwork, it was time for a little fun. Waghorn demonstrated loops, rolls, hard G-vertical pulls, extended inverted flight, knife edges, and maneuvers that I am simply not aerobatically inclined enough to speak about. I laughed through most of it, and there might have been an expletive or two, but after a half hour or so, I’d had enough. I definitely broke long before the airplane did, but to my surprise, I rather enjoyed it. 

On our 10-minute flight back to T82 I began recalling my ground school lessons from earlier in the day—specifically, speeds and landing technique. I needed to enter the downwind at 120 knots and fly an oval-shaped pattern, in order to see the runway for as long as possible. On final, I would slow to 100 knots and land the airplane using power, not pitch, a concept I was definitely not used to. Waghorn was adamant on this, so I figured it was important to listen to his words of wisdom, rather than a decade’s worth of instinct telling me to flare.

I entered the pattern on a 45 for Runway 14 and slowed the airplane down to 120 knots. It felt foreign to glance down at the G3X and read 120 knots in general, yet particularly strange on downwind. Although everything was happening at a much faster rate than I was accustomed to, the airplane still felt like an extension of my body. And thanks to Waghorn’s instruction on the ground and in the air, I was feeling confident. 

On base, I quickly realized the importance of flying an oval pattern rather than a standard rectangle. There is zero direct forward visibility from the pilot or passenger seat, so the runway completely disappears on final. Maintaining 100 knots, I began using my peripheral vision to guide me to the runway’s centerline. As I cleared the end of the runway, Waghorn instructed me to keep my pitch as it was and to slowly begin pulling the power to idle. Subconsciously, I added the tiniest bit of back pressure, and we proceeded to land tailwheel first—the exact thing I was specifically told to avoid. 

Waghorn laughed and said “as soon as you’re stabilized, full power, and let’s try again, now that you see what I’m talking about.” Working hard not to overcontrol the airplane with my feet, and the slightest touch of right aileron to counteract a 20-knot crosswind, I brought the power in and rotated at 80. With a little bit of right rudder to counteract the left-turning tendency, I pitched for 100. Convinced I was flying a spaceship rather than an airplane, I smiled from ear to ear and laughed like I didn’t have a care in the world. 

As I turned downwind, I became more determined than ever to overcome my subconscious. “Every-one does it,” said Waghorn. “It takes a little getting used to, but once you get it, you’ll see just how easy it is. Just remember, power, not pitch.” 

I made a tighter, yet rounded base to final turn, so I could see the runway for just a few seconds longer. Slowing to 100 knots, I repeated the “power, not pitch” mantra all the way down to the runway. At the point when my brain started telling me to flare, I slowly pulled the power to idle, and the airplane gently sank down toward the runway. Without adding any pressure on the stick, the airplane touched the pavement in a gorgeous three-point attitude a few seconds later.

“Holy cow,” I exclaimed. It felt too good to be true. 

Seemingly pleased, Waghorn encouraged me to keep going around the pattern and practice my landings for as long as I liked. He didn’t have to tell me twice. After 10 patterns and 10 landings under my belt, I called it a day. I had burned enough gas and smoke oil, and I was starting to get a bit nauseous after zooming around the pattern at rocket ship speeds. 

After two and half hours of flight time in the GB1, “the Carbon Cub of the aerobatics world” as the TacAero team likes to call it, I can say that the GameBird provided me with one of the most thrilling and enjoyable experiences in my 700-plus-hour logbook. Not only was the airplane a graceful, thrill-seeking joy to fly, but my experience with the TacAero team was second to none. With its professionalism, regard for safety, detailed training curriculum, and overall customer experience, it is no wonder the school is Game Aerospace’s official training partner.

I look forward to flying with TacAero in the future and to the future of Game Aerospace, especially with the announcement of its new firebomber, the GB2 StormBird. Let’s hope a GB1 and GB2 comparison article is in my future.