The Saab 340 was a
popular airliner in it’s day. Originally flown in 1983, it was, at the time, a
very advanced regional airliner. Most of us who flew it had just come from
smaller light twins- Cessna 402’s, Chieftain’s, that sort of thing. The Saab
340A was a big step up. It had a stand-up cabin, a galley, even a real bathroom
in the back. The cockpit was roomy and had a new Collins EFIS-86 avionics
system, with high tech things like piezo-electric crystals. The engines were
huge, two General Electric CT7-5A2 powerplants that made a whopping 1735 SHP
each, turning 11’ diameter Dowty-Rotol propellers. From the moment you hit the
starter, this engine made a deep, throaty sound, a very muscular sound. It had
this overhead panel that looked impossibly complicated, but by the time we left
ground school we knew every single switch and the logical order of it all.
Knowing the overhead panel was like a daily oral exam on the systems. Pretty
automatic, but still lots to do to keep it interesting.
The Saab 340 came with
airstairs, but they were of composite construction and the small wheels at the
bottom could break off easily if the flight attendant lowered it too fast.
Otherwise it worked flawlessly. The skin of the fuselage was thick! This was
one very strong Swedish airplane. Starting engines could be done automatically
or manually, so of course we did it manually. It was all memory items, which I
can still easily repeat 30 years later- “Door warnings out, beacon on, bus-tie
connect, left and right avionics off, stand-by pressure check, no batt start
light out, clear left…” You mashed the start switch to the left, your hand over
it and the ignition switch together. The deep awakening of the beast begins. Up
to 20% Ng, put the condition lever to start/feather with your right hand, then
with your left index finger move the ignition to auto while holding the start
switch with your thumb. Once it lit off you let go of the start switch and
watch for the usual- normal acceleration, oil pressure, temp limits not
exceeded. Actually, I flew it for eight years and never once saw it overtemp
during start. If the engine was still hot, you’d motor it until the ITT dropped
to 150 degrees, then give it the fuel and the spark. The engine will stabilize
around 70% (I think, it’s been thirty years). The prop is still in feather, so
it’s turning relatively slow. With both engines running, bleeds open and
generators on (another memory item flow to go through, yet quite logical), you
bring the props up to the min-gate and the blades slowly come up to normal
speed, around 1270 rpm. This is when the engine gets loud! But not inside, it’s
a quiet cockpit. The plane tilts forward a little, dipping it’s nose slightly
to let you know it’s ready to do this.
We were flying for
Northwest Airlink (who still fly but under a different name now) out of
Minneapolis. Not Mesaba, we were with Express Airlines I Inc. We depart at
sunset in the warm summer evening. You line it up smartly at the runway end,
lights on, push the power up and set the autothrottle. We usually use zero
flaps and reduced power (90%). Full power takeoffs shorten engine life. At
around 110-112 kts you lift the nose to ten degrees and just hold it there,
easy as can be. We settle into 180 KIAS and 1000 fpm. We’re heading south to
Mason City, which is opposite to the flow of traffic on the arrival at
7000-9000’, so you keep it down at 4000’ and just blast along. We come down
I-35 doing 250 knots indicated. We fly right past where Buddy Holly and the Big
Bopper died, then take a left base to the southeast runway at Mason City
Airport (no control tower, so do what you want). A group of teens are hanging
out by the end in their cars, so I dip a little low at the end, flash the
lights and we get lots of waving from them. We get into the gate, shut the left
engine down and feather the right. I work the crossfeed while half the 30
passengers get off, half the bags come off and the First Officer gets the
paperwork done. We hand it outside, close up and go through the start procedure
again. Taxi out to the northwest runway and in short order we blast off with a
slow climb over the teen group. Iowa teens are cool.
The air is smooth and
clear as we head down to Ft Dodge, 20 minutes away. No control tower here, so
Tim flies straight in to runway 24, 6547’ long. We stop, do a 180 and taxi back
to the terminal. As the last of our passengers deplane, we prepare for the
final leg, an empty flight to our home base in Sioux City. I notice all the
campfires in the darkness ahead, near the small taxiway to runway 30. I asked
the ramper about it and he says, “Some sort of fly-in. A lot of people in their
little planes are camped out over there.” I ask if the taxiway is open and he
says, “Well, uh, I think so, maybe….”
Everyone is off,
baggage door closed, all doors closed. Terri comes up and sits in the jumpseat
as we fire up the left engine again. The Saab 340 is a joy to taxi. I move us
towards the taxiway to runway 30, right through the campsites. We are the
biggest thing to come down this taxiway since this little jamboree began, so
everybody is up and watching us thundering along, all lights on, making a big
show of it. I taxi precisely, slowly down the centerline, turn left, the
engines drowning out any other noise. Lots of people waved, but we were busy running
checklists. I think Terri waved back. At the end we line up carefully on the
numbers and hold the brakes. I bring the power up till the props get up to
speed, pause, then push them up to 80%. “Set power,” I say to Tim and he turns
on the autothrottle (CTOT). This leaps the engines to full power automatically,
108%. I release the brakes and it’s like being launched down a catapult. We are
seriously pressed backwards in our seats. “V1 and Rotate” comes in seconds. I
rotate and we climb out for Sioux City as steeply as we can, holding 108% for
four minutes and 140 kts indicated. Show over, we settle into a normal cruise.
I hand fly it, the Saab is a joy to handle, very smooth and responsive. I’ve
always said, if it looks good, it probably flies good, and the Saab does. It’s
heavy on the controls, but not too much. Control forces are pretty equal all
around, hats off to the designers in Linkoping, Sweden. Down low it burns more
but you have to pull the power back or it’ll overspeed (250’s the limit), so whether
you’re at 8000’ or 16,000’, you’ll average 800 pound of fuel per hour. For a
plane that size, that’s pretty economical. Why, I heard once from management
that we needed nine passengers to break even. Everything else was profit. When
we had 33 seats in it, it was a lot of weight. With 30 seats, the rows in the
back had as much legroom as today’s First Class. And you could talk to each
other like you were in your Cadillac.
Big windows make it
easy to see the airport early. When the gear comes down there isn’t any
noticeable pitch change, and you’d hardly notice but for a little more wind
noise in the cockpit from the nose gear doors opening. Initial flaps are 15
degrees at 175 kts tops, then flaps twenty below 160. Stabilizing it at 120
KIAS is easy, it’s rock stable on the approach. Reduce a little when in close
and cross the threshold at Vref, about 105-110 knots depending on weight. If
the wind is gusting, add half the steady state and all of the gust. Ten more
knots if there is ice on the airplane. Twenty knots is the maximum correction,
so in the winter you might come in at 142 kts, land at 132 kts. Real jet speed,
but it was easy to control on the ground. The rudder was huge and effective
right down to 50 kts. Reverse thrust was substantial yet can be modulated left
and right to compensate for any weathervaning tendencies. Below 70 kts you
transitioned to hand wheel steering as easy as could be. On the ramp it’ll turn
sharp, but the wings are 70’ wide so give yourself plenty of room.
The Saab 340 wasn’t
much for altitude, but on our typical one hour legs, 16,000-17,000’ was the
norm. The later Saab 340B had a little more horsepower and could climb to the
low twenties without too much effort. In cruise the Saab would do 270 knots
true. If it had a fault it was icing. The engine intake heat was electric and
drew a LOT of amperage. If it failed you couldn’t get it back, and then the
engine intake would ice up quickly, until it choked the life out of that
engine. The props were composite, and if they got ice on them and you used the
prop heat too soon, the ice would melt and run along the blade, creating little
ice ridges that acted like stall fences. The props would get out of balance and
shake, the thrust would go away. In moderate icing while on the DME arc for a
back course approach one night, we were flaps up, gear up, full power and
barely holding 160 kts, when we should have been exceeding 250. Landing gear
and flaps 15 came down as we descended, we never did use flaps 20. That was
northern Minnesota for you. But hey, we were young. You can’t blame the Swedes-
the engines and props were built in the USA.
Some people I know say
the best thing about the Saab 340 was the cockpit door. You could close it and
not worry about anyone else but yourself. This is true. I also liked the hot
coffee or cold Coke that you only had to ask for; and the bathroom saved many a
desperate passenger. The Saab 340 was a wonderful place to earn a living, and
flew like a new Cadillac. I had things go bad, but that was rare. Some exciting
moments, but of all the airplanes I have flown, the Saab 340 was the best. I
flew them for seven years with the airline, and one year with a charter
company. Later I got hired at FlightSafety to teach the Saab 340 systems and
simulator; later became the Program Manager. “Door warnings out, beacon on,
bus-tie connect,……”
