Well, OK, maybe once

    When people find out I'm a flight instructor, the first thing out of many of their mouths is, “don't you get scared flying with those new wannabe pilots?” My canned answer is no, flying with new students is no more stressful than driving down a busy street or standing in a long line at WalMart (actually, the WalMart thing is much more stressful and more likely to produce a life-changing event). I seldom go to the next level of answer, the level that goes back 25 years or so, back to that flight with that students whose name I have long-since forgotten. The guy who almost got us both killed.

     As I recall, the flight in question was this guy's third or fourth lesson. He had been a good student, always showed up on time, had his homework done, listened carefully to instructions – the works. We had already been through some of the basics of flight, like climbs and descents, turns, and even some ground reference maneuvers where we circle around a point on the surface and try to keep the airplane at the same altitude and distance from the reference. He had done fine, no remarkable problems or learning issues. So we went to the next step.

    That next step was what we call 'stall recognition and recovery.' Airplanes stall when their wings no longer produce enough lift to keep the thing going. Normally it happens because the pilot slows the airplane down too much or pitches the nose of the plane up too high. Left unchecked, a stall can turn into a spin, and a spin into a crash, with widely scattered aluminum and sadness for those left behind. Not good.

    To dramatically reduce the chance of this scenario actually playing out in the real world, we teach students how to recognize an impending stall and how to prevent it from occurring, We also teach them how to recover from a stall early in the process so it doesn't degrade into a spin. It's really not complicated. All the pilot has to do is lower the nose of the airplane to just below the horizon (what we call 'decreasing the angle of attack'), add power and let the airplane go back to being its normal, docile self.

    Many students are terrified of stall training, especially in the early phases of instruction. The thought of flying a mile above the earth and putting the airplane into a configuration where the wings stop flying produces more than a little nervous laughter during the pre-flight ground briefing. “We're going to do WHAT??” is often written all over their faces. I don't recall this student being any more apprehensive than normal during the pre-flight, so we climbed into the plane, got our clearance, and took off for the practice area.

    At that time, I was flying out of Buchanan Field in Concord, California, a medium sized city just east of San Francisco. The practice area was just north of the field, midway between Concord and Travis Air Force Base. The area was flat and deserted, populated only by migrating birds and the occasional Tule Elk. Small canals and sloughs wind their way through the area, forming marshy swamps in many areas. More than one airplane has been pulled from those bogs over the years due to gas starvation or mechanical malfunction. I always thought there must be snakes down there, lots of them. I hate snakes.

    The lesson started smoothly enough. Normally, the instructor demonstrates a new maneuver to the student, explaining it as he/she goes along. Then, the student does it, with the instructor keeping a close eye (and closer hands) on the control inputs. I showed the student how to do clearing turns to make sure there was no conflicting traffic in the area. We then applied carburetor heat, reduced the power, slowed the airplane to the appropriate speed, lowered the flaps and established a power-off glide. Then, we gently lifted the nose of the airplane to just a few degrees above the horizon and watched the airspeed bleed off as the plane tried to climb uphill with the engine idling. Keeping back pressure on the yoke, we waited for the stall warning horn to go off, telling us that we're just a few MPH above stall speed. At that point, we lowered the nose to just a degree or two below the horizon, added full power, and lifted the flaps to 20 degrees. We then lifted the nose just a little above the horizon to establish a positive climb rate, waited a few second, then lifted the flaps the rest of the way up, establishing normal cruise airspeed. No sweat, and almost no loss of altitude throughout the entire maneuver. I did the whole thing one more time with the student just watching, to give him a chance to chill a little and take in the steps one more time. Then it was his turn.

    The first few steps went fine. We did our clearing turns and reduced the power to idle. As I reminded him to start lowering flaps, I could see him leaning forward in his seat as though bracing for an impact of some sort. OK, no worries, most students are little nervous during these first few stall exercises. When he lifted the nose to slow down to begin the stall sequence, he pulled back way too far on the yoke and the airplane pitched up far above the horizon, slowing much too quickly. This rapid slowing caused the stall warning horn to blast its message almost immediately, and when it did, rather than pitching the nose down to just below the horizon, he pushed the yoke all the way forward to its stops, causing the plane to pitch down violently. All the papers and contents laying in the back seat lurched immediately to the ceiling. Pens flew out of my pocket, and my head hit the headliner. Hard. We must have pulled negative 2 Gs, and we were going as close to straight down as I have ever been while not doing aerobatics. To make matters worse, the student had applied full power (as he should have), increasing our speed dramatically and bringing the earth closer to us at an alarming rate. “I have the airplane,” I called out, probably an octave or two higher than normal. When an instructor says this to a student, it means for the student to let go of the controls and the instructor will fly it back to a more normal configuration. Only this time, the student was frozen on the controls and did not let go. That's when I got a little, eh, anxious. “I have the plane,” I repeated. Again, no response. We were now probably 2500 feet above the ground and closing fast. The student had both hands on the control yoke and would not let go. At least I could reduce the power, so I did, which slowed our descent rate a little, but we were still headed straight for those swamps and those damn snakes. I called out for him to let go of the controls two or three more times, but he was frozen in terror. Finally, at an uncomfortably low altitude and with a windshield still full of marsh land, I jabbed the student as hard as I could in the ribs with my elbow. That did the trick. He let go, either from pain or shock, and I took the controls and got is straightened out. We flew in silence back to Buchanan. I never saw the guy again. I tried calling him a few times to talk about what happened, but I never heard back. Too bad.

    Though a scary story, I can honestly say that was the only time in decades of boring holes in the sky with new students that I was actually afraid. Most flights and lessons are learning experiences that slowly, over time, turn a a dreaming wannabe into a safe, confident and competent pilot, with a life changed forever through the experience of controlled flight through the earth's atmosphere. Mankind has dreamed of doing just that for millennia, and it is every pilot's duty and pleasure to share that experience with as many people as possible.

    When I recounted that story to people right after it happened, one or two asked if I was going to quit teaching as a result of the experience. Frankly, the thought never occurred to me. They say that piloting a plane is hours of boredom punctuated by seconds of sheer terror. I don't believe it. Flying for me has been years of sheer joy and sharing, punctuated by one guy who freaked out and scared us both for a few moments of uncertainty. It was nerve wracking for awhile, but not terrifying, certainly not enough so to keep me from helping others realize their dreams of flight.

    No way was I going to let a little muddy water and a few measly snakes keep me from showing newbies the view from Up There. No way.

Big Bad Attitudes

There's an old saying that goes something like this: "There are old pilots. There are bold pilots. But there are no old, bold pilots." Chuck Yaeger aside, there's a lot of truth in that adage.

Every year, the NALL REPORT gives us the lowdown on aviation accidents for the previous year, what caused them, how they ended, the whole nine yards. And every year, the bottom line is the same: too many pilots are acting too bold for their own damn good.

In flying, just as in most walks of life, attitude is everything. The NTSB and others have studied the effects of attitude on safety and have identified several "hazardous attitudes" that they say account for a good many bad decisions that lead to bent metal and broken trees. These attitudes continue to show up year after year as contributing factors in crashes and incidents. The NTSB and FAA think that if enough pilots learn about these Big Bad Attitudes that maybe, just maybe, they'll recognize them as part of their own personalities and can work to offset their harmful effects. We'll see if that works. In the meantime, it never hurts to know what traits these researchers have found can lead to unplanned excursions into terrain, I mean, airplane crashes.

1. Invulnerability. Remember when you were 17 and felt like nothing could touch you? Maybe you drove too fast, or cut school, or did other things you'd rather not think about right now, all with the unspoken belief that you'd get away with it with no consequences. Well, some pilots seem to still feel that way, even when their years total several multiples of 17. The truth is that feeling invulnerable can lead a pilot into taking risks that are unnecessary and unusually dangerous. If you ever start feeling like you're at one with your airplane and nothing can bring you down, think again. Excrement occurs. Even to the best pilots. You're flesh and bone, and anybody who's seen the aftermath of an airplane accident understands just what that means all too clearly.

2. Macho. Think you're tough? Try stopping a 2300lb airplane in 4 inches after it hits an oak tree at 90 knots. You ain't tough. Whenever you start thinking that this flying business is just no match for your superior skills and courage, it's time to put away the Rambo fantasy and realize that you could be just one bad decision away from Uglyville. Pilots need to be confident to be good, but they also need to realize the wisdom in another old aviation adage: "The superior pilot exercises superior judgment BEFORE he/she has to exercise superior skill."

3. Anti-Authority. With the FAA and others seeming to be pushing their way into more and more areas of our flying lives, it's sometimes easy to think in terms of us vs. them. Some pilots take great pride in their ability to circumvent the rules and thumb their nose at the authorities. Not good. While the FAA's unofficial motto, We Ain't Happy 'Til You Ain't Happy, sometimes appears to hold true, the real truth is that rules and authority figures are there because, without them, more people die. That's the bottom line. If you find yourself cutting corners or leaving a little detail off your medical exam form, do us all a favor. Stop. Play it straight. Be cooperative with the FAA guys and, believe it or not, they'll more than likely do the same to you.

4.  Impulsivity/Excess Enthusiasm. Flying is one of those activities that demands that we think before we act. Choosing to do something on the spur of the moment often leads to unintended consequences. I knew of a pilot once who decided to go down to chase a herd of Tule elk in the delta near Suisun. He hadn't plan to do it, but he saw the elk and, well, what the heck, down he went. He didn't see the power line until just before he dove under it (he thought), tearing a giant cut in his vertical stabilizer and rudder, striking the ground and destroying the aircraft. He was lucky; he limped away from the scene, but had to walk through marshland for several miles to get out. A moment of thought and planning could have avoided the whole mess. Like the sign says, Thimk!

5. Resignation. Ever think, geez, there's nothing I can do so I might as well give up? If you ever have that thought in an airplane, give yourself a good swift kick in the butt and get your head back in the game, now! Research shows that too many pilots, when faced with an emergency situation, either freeze on the controls or just quit flying the airplane, consigning themselves to the "inevitable." This resignation to the Gods is a needless killer, and any feelings of helplessness must be countered with willful force in the face of a dead engine or broken control cable. Other studies that have found that most accidents can be survived with little or no injury if the airplane impacts the ground UNDER CONTROL. This doesn't mean perfect control, just with the shiny side still facing up at an airspeed that can be de-accelerated at a reasonable rate. There are few situations that are truly hopeless, and if pilots simply keep flying the airplane until it comes to a complete stop, even if it's in the tops of trees or middle of Lake Wherethehell, odds are good they'll be telling the story to their hangar buds in no time.

There are other hazardous attitudes, too. Complacency is a big one. Maybe you fly the same route week in and week out, so don't bother to check the weather. Or maybe you think you're starting with enough gas to get you to CheapLL International for a topoff. If you start feeling that the next flight is a no-brainer piece of cake, stop yourself and ask, have I done everything I would do if this were a long cross country flight to Unknown Regional Airport? If not, slow down.

Another bigee for airplane owners is excessive frugality. Airplanes are no place to cut corners to save money. Flying isn't cheap, never has been, and never will be, despite what the LSA and kitbuilder folks would have us believe. If you can't afford to do it right, buy into a partnership, or join a flying club. This doesn't mean that every time a bug smears your windshield you toss the keys to the A&P and tell him to "do whatever it takes." It does mean, however, that you maintain your aircraft to standards and keep it airworthy. Your family and passengers are depending on you.

If You're Pilot in Command, Then Command Dammit!

I just read another article about two flight instructors taking a pleasure flight in a rented airplane.

There is an old adage about how the most dangerous flight configuration is two instructors in the same plane, and this was borne out by what happened to these two guys.

It seems that they decided to go chase coyotes or squirrels or something in their rented C-172, and thought that flying down to 20-30 feet to do so was a good idea. They took turns flying, with apparently little conversation about who was flying when; they just took control from each other when it seemed like the right time. Well, guess what. They crashed. “I thought you were flying!,” said one guy. “Well, I thought YOU were flying,” said the other. Both emerged a little bent but not permanently broken, but the gear was torn off the plane and the prop struck the ground, requiring an engine tear-down and major airframe repairs. Ugh.

Who was Pilot in Command in this flight? If you ask me, neither. Nobody took charge of the flight and, just like any endeavor left to entropy, it didn't end so well. So, what's the lesson? Take charge.

If you're PIC, then C for gosh sakes. If you're flying with another pilot, make sure it's clear who's flying. The FAA recommends a 3-stage communication for this situation (all my students learn this on the first flight): First guy (or gal) says, “You take the plane.” Next person says, “I have the plane.” Then the first one says, “You have the plane.” Kinda like singing a duet. If done every time, this will dramatically reduce the “well-I-thought-you-were-flying” conversation in the emergency room. It should be clear at all times just who's manipulating the controls.

But what about sharing responsibilities? I know when I'm flying with another pilot for fun, and he's PIC, I like to do SOMETHING so I'm not just a bump on a log. Maybe I'll navigate, or work the comm radios, or fix a sandwich – SOMETHING. If you do the same, and if you're PIC, make sure you verify everything the other pilot's doing. Verify the frequencies he/she is setting, and make sure they're putting in the right radials or GPS courses. Don't depend on them to do it right. Remember, if you're PIC, then C!

Sharing flights with others who enjoy it is one of the real pleasures of aviation. Just make sure you're in charge. After all, if you're PIC and the crud hits the propeller, the FAA will hold YOU responsible, not your co-conspirator. Like the great Roman emperor Ronaldo Maximus said, “Trust but Verify.”

Decisions That Kill

   I heard a disturbing story the other day that reminded me to share some important information.
   A local pilot recounted an experience he had on a weekend fishing trip to a Northern California lake some 20+ years ago. He and his buddies had just flown in for a few days of camping, and were waiting for another planeful of friends to come in and join them. The wind was blowing pretty good that day, and the gravel strip presented some challenges, but nothing a competent pilot couldn't handle if they were careful. Anyway, after a short while they heard the sounds of an approaching airplane and soon saw the familiar outline of a Cessna 172. The plane circled overhead once or twice, then appeared to enter a traffic pattern for an over-the-lake final approach. All seemed fine, until the plane seemed to slow down and wallow while on short final. The pilot was clearly having trouble with the crosswind, and may have been intimidated by the relatively short gravel strip. Deciding to go back for another try, the pilot applied power and pitched up to go around, but stalled and spun into a line of trees alongside the runway.
   "I couldn't believe what I was seeing," said the local pilot, "and the sound of the plane crashing through the branches was the loudest noise I'd ever heard."
   The campers on the ground rushed over to check on the wreckage, and found four people in the Cessna. They were not their friends, but the airplane was identical to the one they were expecting. Two appeared to be dead, but the other two were showing some signs of life. "I remember seeing the strobe lights still flashing," said the local pilot. "We pulled on the door handles to get the guys out, but the doors were stuck." After a minute or two of trying to get the airplane open, the right fuel tank erupted in a huge explosion, sending the people on the ground scrambling backward away from the flames. "We ran back to our plane to get the fire extinguisher, but by the time we got back, the other wing had exploded, too. We stood and watched as the people inside the plane burned up."
   It was a sight he will never forget.
   Accidents like this are rare, very rare, but they do happen.
   It turned out that the pilot of the wrecked plane had 160 hours of flying time, and apparently made some pretty bad decisions leading up the crash (none of us is immune!). Judging from the fact that there were four guys in the plane, with fishing gear, coolers and camping equipment, it's a pretty safe bet the little Skyhawk was seriously over gross, with a CG that was probably well aft of the allowable limit. Deciding to load his plane like this and take off was Killer Decision #1. Add that to the unfamiliar airport and gusty winds and you have a scenario that pretty much begged to not end well.
   Killer Decision #2 was the go-around technique. While the pilot attempted a go-around, he apparently decided to use less than full engine power. With an aft CG, the plane would have been less stable than normal and closer to its critical angle of attack during any pitching up moment, and with less than full power the plane would have been unable to climb. The stall and spin event that played out was almost inevitable, given the circumstances.
   So, what can we learn from this horrendous accident?
   First, keep the airplane's weight well within limits. Fudge a little on the safe side. Keep under gross, with the CG well within the envelope. If you have to change plans, leave somebody at home or take less baggage. Gross weight and CG are not to be trifled with.
   Second, make sure you're good at operating in windy conditions, and especially with gusty crosswinds. If you're not confident on windy days, grab your local CFI and take some dual. Practice, practice, practice. Wind is a fact of flying life. Learn to live with it.
   Third, remember that go-arounds are always to be done with FULL POWER. Follow your POH's recommendations regarding retracting gear and flaps. Practice these babies, too. We can go for years without needing to do a go-around, and then a deer or truck pulls onto the runway when you're on a 1/4 mile final. Be prepared. Preparation is everything.
   Fourth, and perhaps most importantly, avoid situations where superior piloting skill is needed. There's an old pilot maxim that says something like, "The superior pilot uses superior judgment to avoid having to use superior flying skills." Amen to that, brother. Stay in your comfort zone. Don't let the pressure to get there force you into doing something you're uncomfortable with. When in doubt, chicken out.
   Better to be a live chicken than a dead duck.
   For emergencies that happen at altitude requiring an off-airport landing in rough terrain, be sure to turn the gas off, lean the mixture and turn the master switch off BEFORE LANDING. I see too many pilots on BFRs who forget to do these simple things, but they can be life-savers. It's extra tragic when a planeful of people survive an emergency landing but die in the post-impact fire. Turning off the electricity and fuel can go a long way toward ensuring a better outcome. Checklists help, and I encourage my students to have their emergency checklist out during the enroute phase of flight. Just in case.
   Flying is not a particularly dangerous activity. Done properly, with good training, recent experience and good equipment, the vast majority of pilots will go through their entire flying lives without even denting a cowling. Somebody asked Michelangelo once what the secret to great sculpture was. He said it was taking a block of granite and simply removing the parts you don't want. Flying is the same. To do it safely, just take out the parts of flying that can cause you grief. What is left is years or decades of safe, fun, enjoyable flying.
   Remember, have fun, be safe, and don't do nothin' dumb.
--Bill