New Pilot

Making the examiner say "congratulations"

The new private pilot wore a grin as he told the tale of his recently completed flight test. It had gone like clockwork, with just enough wind to let him strut his proficiency in ground-reference maneuvers and crosswind landings. The examiner had complimented him on those, and now the temporary pilot certificate waved like a flag in the exuberant lad's hand. "There's one thing I forgot to mention," he said. "When Mr. Treadwell told me we were diverting to Belfast (Maine), I thought to myself, 'Belfast! The one airport around here that's not in my logbook yet, and he's making me divert to Belfast!" Although I was amused, I decided on the spot that from then on I would either take all my students to Belfast or be more cryptic when making entries in their logbooks.

The new pilot's animated telling of his checkride tale also gave me an idea for a journalistic project that has been paying dividends ever since: When a trainee is ready to take the flight test, I request a brief written review of the ride for a collection of folklore I have begun amassing on the subject. The reading material is then made available to the next batter up.

At first, participation was half-hearted, with contributions amounting to little more than lists of maneuvers, hastily scrawled on paper-bag fragments and envelope backs. But as new pilots read the reports of those who had gone before and began getting into the spirit of the thing, cleverly written essays replaced the paper-bag scraps and a body of firsthand philosophy began to emerge about checkrides — hot reading if you are about to take a test of your own.

Is your big day approaching? The training program has been rigorous, that long solo cross-country flight is finally in the bag, your regulatory requirements are met, and test prep is the order of the day. As you shift into high gear for the home stretch, it's time to devise an intensive finish-up strategy that will make you sharp as a tack when the big day dawns. The goals are simple enough: your pilot knowledge must be probed and polished during ground-training sessions. Hone your airwork in practice sessions sprinkled generously with crosswind landings, go- arounds, and simulated emergency procedures. Preemptively strike at potential disruptions that can drag out your program and rob you of your momentum.

One thing many pilots ignore, despite its critical importance, is understanding what a checkride is — and what it isn't. The checkride is a flight with a Federal Aviation Administration inspector or a designated pilot examiner who will evaluate your pilot knowledge and skill as measured against the specific guidelines published in a booklet titled Practical Test Standards. (You can buy a copy of the PTS from many flight schools and pilot supply shops.) He or she will check on the recommendation of your instructor that you should be issued a private pilot certificate based on your training and the competency you have demonstrated. This isn't a chance for someone in authority to invent a set of impossible tasks for you to perform and then berate you for failing to perform them. Neither is it a time for you to be guessing at how maneuvers and knowledge requirements must be demonstrated.

To best grasp how all this works, review the introductory pages of the PTS. The narrative found there describes the practical test standard concept, including the responsibilities of the applicant, the instructor, and the examiner. Test prerequisites, equipment requirements, the reference material on which the test is based, and the criteria for what constitutes satisfactory and unsatisfactory performance are defined. Note the emphasis on "mastery of the aircraft within the standards outlined in this book with the successful outcome of a task never seriously in doubt." Is your flying up to that standard? If so, take the test. Note the focus on "exercising good judgment," which might mean changing altitudes to maintain proper clearance from clouds or making "a proper decision to go around" if something leads you to believe that it would be prudent to discontinue a landing approach. (Don't wait for the examiner to prompt you if such an event occurs.) Basically, as the applicant, you are in the same position as someone who has been nominated for a job in the federal government and now must undergo a confirmation hearing. The advantage is that you need garner only one vote — the examiner's. Your instructor's signature on your FAA Form 8710 (Application for Rating) confers a presumption of competence on your application, provided the CFI has not had a history of numerous students failing their flight tests — something that you, as a consumer, presumably researched long ago.

The test has a structure to be followed by the examiner. Oral and flight testing are divided into "areas of operation" and subordinate "tasks." The examiner must prepare a "plan of action" for your test, including "the order and combination of tasks to be demonstrated by the applicant in a manner that will result in an efficient and valid test." For example, if you are asked to perform a crosswind landing on a runway at a grass field, the examiner can accept the landing as a satisfactory demonstration of both the soft-field and crosswind landings tasks. And the traffic pattern may serve as a demonstration of the rectangular-course ground reference maneuver.

The ability to "exhibit knowledge" is all-important and heads up virtually every PTS list of objectives. Reference material listed under each pilot operation should be consulted to check your knowledge. Don't adjourn your ground reviews or flight work without total comfort in this realm. Your oral exam will put this aspect of your prep in the spotlight when you perform cross-country planning and discuss regulations, airspace, weather, and aircraft systems.

Wrote one Bangor, Maine, student of the oral exam: "He had me plan a flight to Burlington, Vermont, including a weather briefing and flight plan filing. He said the go, no-go decision was strictly mine." So be sharp and attentive to detail. Avoid such dumb blunders as showing up with expired charts or an ancient copy of the Airport/Facilities Directory. Update your last weather briefing if it's getting stale. Sometime before the big day, work a weight-and-balance calculation for you and the examiner in the airplane you will fly, using actual weight arm and moment figures, not sample numbers provided in the pilot's operating handbook. Review the aircraft maintenance logs, noting the date of the last annual inspection and required equipment inspections and scrutinizing any supplemental type certificates if the airplane has been modified. Be prepared to explain how any mods affect performance.

Having passed the oral, the recommendation you have earned from your CFI is partially vindicated. Now you will show you can fly the maneuvers to the published standards. (If in doubt, get an opinion from a second instructor before the test.) Note that the regs require you to log three hours of flight instruction in preparation for the practical test within the preceding 60 days, but that's the minimum — fly as much as necessary to ensure that successful outcome of maneuvers is "never seriously in doubt." The PTS should be your constant companion as you prepare. I am astonished at how many people I meet who have gone for flight checks without ever looking at the PTS; how do they — and their instructors — know what test they are training for? Maximum allowable deviations from altitudes, airspeeds, headings, etc., are listed in the PTS, and each task is cross-referenced with the FAA Flight Training Handbook (AC 61-21), the Pilot's Handbook of Aeronautical Knowledge (AC 61-23), the appropriate regulatory chapters, Airman's Information Manual, or other key publications. Checklists at the back of the book cover everything you need to know, to do in flight, and to bring to the test.

FAA efforts at standardization notwithstanding, the ever-changing system in which we fly still affects some regions more than others, and the changing picture of pilots' strengths and weaknesses can lend different flavors to flight checks in different locales. Examiners everywhere, however, are placing more emphasis on stall/spin awareness and the use of "realistic distractors" in testing of private pilot applicants. Strong emphasis on no-gyro non-precision instrument approach procedures for instrument-rating candidates has resulted from accident data. Because regulatory changes and modifications of the air traffic control system, such as the 1993 airspace reclassification, also shape testing, it is essential to be working from a current copy of the PTS. Examiners attend periodic training sessions to renew their testing authority, and sometimes these sessions shift what we will see during future flight tests. (Recently, a crackdown on improperly filled out application forms was at the top of the certification branch's gripe list.) An FAA newsletter titled Designee Updater, mailed to examiners and flight instructors, often provides the first heads-up to new interpretations of the PTS, or an upcoming PTS revision that may be in place by the time you are ready.

While we're discussing examiners, most are straight shooters who let you show your stuff in a calm, relaxed cockpit, but don't become complacent or casual. Treat the examiner like any other passenger, providing a comprehensive pre-flight briefing, supervising him in your cockpit (seatbelts, etc.), and maintaining your poise as pilot in command — i.e., not allowing yourself to fall prey to distractions caused by being in the presence of an authority figure. Remember, always fly the airplane first. Use your checklists; don't just wave them around for show.

As for that preemptive strike: don't let weather delays, maintenance problems, or difficulty in coordinating schedules dull your edge — you've worked too hard to get discouraged now (see " Dealing with Delays," August 1994 Pilot). Have backup plans in place before you need them, just as you consider various options during flight.

Sure, taking a test is rough on the nerves, but most people relax a little once they discover that the typical examiner would much rather issue you a new certificate than hand you a notice of disapproval.

Dan Namowitz is a multiengine-rated commercial pilot and CFII living, flying, and instructing in Maine.

How It Works: Shucking Simplicity

Moving up from the lowly trainer

BY MARC E. COOK

It's just the natural order of things. You train in the simplest, least expensive airplane available. Get your ticket and, if you've done your work in a two-seater, probably a basic four-place airplane will be your next stop. Eventually, as finances, experience, and desire dictate, it's likely you'll begin thinking of moving farther up the scale, to a more complex single. If your sights are set on a commercial ticket, you will — by dint of the Federal Aviation Regulations — get at least some time in a high-performance airplane.

You've probably heard the term "complex" used to describe an airplane with retractable gear, a constant-speed prop, and other accouterments not usually found on the basic singles. (The FARs, incidentally, don't specifically use the term complex.)

Instead, the FARs differentiate simple and complex singles with the term "high-performance," and set some limitations on who may act as pilot in command of one. Specifically, FAR 61.31 (e) says: "High performance airplanes. A person holding a private or commercial pilot certificate may not act as pilot in command of an airplane that has more than 200 horsepower, or that has a retractable landing gear, flaps, and a controllable propeller, unless he has received flight instruction from an authorized flight instructor who has certified in his logbook that he is competent to pilot an airplane that has more than 200 horsepower, or that has a retractable landing gear, flaps, and a controllable propeller, as the case may be. However, this instruction is not required if he has logged flight time as pilot in command in high performance airplanes before November 1, 1973."

Why is this regulation needed? In part, it's because, with the appropriate category and class — single engine, land, for example — it would otherwise be perfectly legal to get your ticket in a Cessna 152 and that afternoon take off in a turbocharged Cessna 210. Legal, maybe, but definitely not wise. (To say nothing of the fact that no insurance company would touch a newly minted pilot in a fast single without some chaperoned transition time in hand.)

Some of the items you'll be concentrating on (and we'll be discussing in depth in upcoming installments) during the transition include:

• Retractable landing gear. A retract adds performance by reducing drag normally produced by the down-and-welded gear. But the training will include more than knowing when to put the wheels up or down. You'll cover emergency procedures and systems fundamentals, and learn how to get the gear out in abnormal situations while still having to fly the airplane. It's a challenge at times; but, overall, a mind-expanding experience.
• Constant-speed propeller. By allowing the prop blades to vary their pitch, or angle of attack to the slipstream, an airplane can achieve significant performance gains. You'll learn how to diagnose prop troubles and how to integrate the prop control into your power-setting routine. It's a bit daunting at first, learning all those combinations of manifold pressure and rpm, but it becomes routine after a while.
• Flaps. Unless you've taken training in a Piper J-3, you're probably already intimately familiar with flaps. But in high-performance airplanes there may well be new methods of operation as well as some new airspeed restrictions. And if you've moved from a high-wing to a low-wing design for the high-performance training (or vice-versa), you'll have to learn different pitch reactions to flap movement.
• Cowl flaps. Most high-performance airplanes use cowl flaps to help manage engine temperatures, offering a better compromise of low-speed cooling and cruise-speed aerodynamic efficiency. You'll have to keep the cowl flaps in mind during the transitions from takeoff to climb to cruise.
• High-power engines. Most trainers are benign to a fault, thanks in part to their modest power. But mishandle a high-performance airplane in a power-on stall or during the go-around, and you'll learn firsthand the aerodynamic law that says power is a destabilizing force. Big airplanes with powerful engines demand more respect than modestly powered trainers.

Fears of Flying: Sleet Shocked

BY JOHN B. GARRITY

One of the most important lessons for a student pilot to learn is a healthy respect for the elements. And coastal Maine in early April can be a harsh teacher.

The weather was blustery, with a 2,500-foot ceiling at Sanford Municipal Airport. The clouds to the west looked a bit threatening, but I had reserved a Cessna 152 at the flight school and I wanted to get in some air time to practice figure 8s and S turns. Besides, the field wouldn't be far away, and if things began to get dicey, I could always head for home.

By the time I had finished my preflight and runup, the ceiling was noticeably lower, but I decided to go ahead anyway. After all, I had driven 45 minutes to get to the airport and I wouldn't get to fly again for another week.

I climbed out to the east, heading for a straight stretch of Interstate 95 to use as a landmark for my S turns. At about 800 feet agl, I began to encounter patches of low clouds. Losing sight of Mother Earth has an unnerving effect on a fledgling pilot. I decided it was safer just to shoot a few landings.

After my third touch and go, the weather rolled in faster than I had ever thought possible.

"Three-Six-One, are you planning on a full stop this time?" asked the instructor over the Sanford unicom.

"Definitely," I responded, as I saw a wall of clouds racing toward the field.

It appeared that I would make it down without incident — until the end of my downwind leg, that is. Seconds before turning base my windshield was pelted with rain. I couldn't see anything in front of me, but I could see the runway through my left window. No one else was in the pattern, so I wasn't too concerned. I hoped that when I changed my heading I would leave this localized storm behind me.

It was only after I had turned base that I began to appreciate the seriousness of my problem. My forward vision was still obscured. It was clear to me now that the rain on my windshield was actually sleet. A quarter-inch layer of ice coated the glass. I still could see the runway to my left, but that comfort would disappear once I started my final approach.

When I turned final, my only views were to my left, right, and straight down. The pine trees below kept me honest as far as the altitude was concerned. But the final approach techniques that were so carefully taught by my instructors had to be significantly adapted to the situation.

"Cut power when you have the runway made," said the instructor.

"But I can't see the runway," I replied.

The only solution, I thought, was to maintain power until I could see the runway below me. But what if I was too high? Would I run out of runway and end up enmeshed in the chain-link fence that separated the field from Route 109? More flaps! That's what I was taught in the few short field landings I had made. But would it be enough?

Finally the pavement appeared below me. I knew I could use the instruments to maintain the proper airspeed and a level attitude, but I needed visual cues to stay lined up with the runway and keep an eye on how much of it I had left.

The 152 needed less than half the width of the pavement to land, so I decided to line up on the right side of the runway. This way I could look straight down from the left window to use the white stripe as a directional guide. I just had to hold my breath and hope.

My airspeed was good. My wings were level. As the ground got closer it looked as though I was actually going to put this thing down safely. I seem to have flared at the right time, but the float before touch down seemed endless. I began imagining all the different ways I could merge with the chain-link fence at the end of the runway.

Impatience got the best of me. When I was within about two feet of the runway, I foolishly pushed the yoke forward, forcing the nose wheel to the ground. The result was a needlessly sloppy, but otherwise safe landing.

As it turned out, I had plenty of runway ahead of me. I taxied onto the inactive runway to my left and called the FBO for assistance in getting back to the taxiway, since my vision was still obscured by ice.

After securing the airplane, I walked into the FBO office. The two instructors who were standing by the counter said nothing as they watched for my reaction.

"I don't think I want to do that again," I said.

"You don't have to. You've already done it," replied one instructor.

"Maybe we should give him his pilot's certificate right now," quipped the other.

How could I have avoided this adventure? My assumption that a weather briefing was not necessary because I planned only local flying was obviously wrong. Had I gotten a forecast, I would have known that a warm front was rapidly approaching, bringing with it the possibility of a temperature inversion and freezing rain aloft.

I learned the hard way how judgment can be clouded by exuberance and how important it is to get the latest possible weather advisory — even when I'm planning only touch-and-go landings.

John B. Garrity, AOPA 1011247, is a 267-hour private pilot based in Exeter, New Hampshire. He works as a computer consultant and freelance writer.

Practice Area: The Long, Long Taxi

BY WILLIAM K. KERSHNER

I had to fly my daughter back to college in a large city in the southeast and, in my Beech Musketeer Aerobatic Sport, the one-hour flight would be enjoyable; with excellent weather, the flight to and from should have been routine.

I had been taking some spin movies from the cockpit and had tufted the top surface of the wings and put about eight feet of red ribbon on each wingtip and tail tip (this was to show the difference in vortices in a spin and normal flight).

Removing this "instrumentation" would take more time than I wanted to invest, and besides, I wanted to do more movie work that afternoon after I got back.

So I left everything as it was.

The flight was fine, the landing was routine, and we had only a short taxi by the tower to the FBO where my daughter would catch a cab to her school. (See diagram, which has been changed to disguise the actual airport.)

As we taxied by the base of the tower, I happened to look up and see a great deal of activity, with personnel gesturing and pointing at my airplane.

"Say, Four-Four-Tango, what are all those ribbons for?" I mentally noted that the transmission had ended with a preposition and also thought it was nobody's business how I decorated my airplane, since I was an American citizen and knew of no laws or FARs that would prevent me from proceeding on a taxiway dragging four red ribbons (plus tufting on top of the wings) along with me. In short, it was none of their business.

However, a witty reply was in order so that people could remember "what Kershner said that day to ground control," but my mind was blank, as it usually is when a quick reply is required. Lying in bed at home at 3 a.m. I can think of a lot of them.

My daughter saved the day. "Tell them it's a girl airplane," she whispered.

"It's a girl airplane," I transmitted.

The rest of the taxi to the FBO (about 100 yards) was uneventful, and after seeing her off, I started up and called for taxi clearance. (Don't ever call for "taxi instructions" or you might have some wiseacre say, "OK, increase power and start rolling, pushing on the left pedal to turn left as you pull out of the parking spot, etc.")

The same runway was in use; and looking at the diagram, you can see that the taxi back to the active runway should be only a couple of hundred yards, as indicated by (A).

My taxi clearance was (B), a route so circuitous I imagined I had left the airport.

At (1) I somehow got onto a Go-Kart track, which cost time and a few points. (Those little hummers can sure move under and around an airplane.)

At (2) there was a little bother with the mall security unit, who said this was the first time they had ever had an airplane in the parking lot, much less inside the mall itself. They were basically very nice about it, got me back outside, and pointed me toward the airport. Then there was some confusion with ground control, since communications had been lost while I was inside.

My wife should have been with me at (3) the fabric store.

At (4), I discovered that by carefully following ground control's directions, a perfect, constant altitude instrument practice "Charlie Pattern" could be done — on the ground.

I arrived at Point (5) ready to take off on the runway I'd landed on (but on the opposite side).

After I completed my runup and noted that there was one airplane ahead of me, I called the tower. I was ready to go. (I was also low on fuel by now, but surely I had enough to get out of the immediate area, which was all I *really* wanted to do at this point.)

Tower: "Six-Five-Four-Four-Tango, you're number twelve for takeoff."

Me: "But there's only one airplane in front of me!"

Tower: "We'll find some others."

Finally I got off the ground and flew back home with my tail between my legs.

How soon we forget. Several months later, I replaced the ribbons with new, improved instrumentation — strings and plastic funnels. The funnels (cones) acted like drogues and gave a better view of the vortices. The ribbons had too many nodules for accurate accounting. I got some good movies and went on a spin lecture tour.

In a lecture on spins to a graduate school class in aerospace engineering, I was asked how I came to settle on white funnels and dark red tufting on the wings. My answers were: (1) the hardware store had only white funnels and (2) dark red yarn was the only color my wife would give me. One attendee from a well-known government agency was heard to mutter that his engineering team could have set up a $100,000 study just to decide what color cones and tufting gave the best visibility. I had $3.98 invested in this system, which showed how little I knew about getting government funding.

Back to the flight. This time I was going to pick up my daughter. I flew into that same airport in the Musketeer equipped with funnels on strings and tufting, landed on the same runway, and taxied to the same FBO. Again, as I taxied by the tower, with four funnels on strings bouncing along the ground behind the wings and stabilator, I saw great activity up there.

A ground controller picked up his mike: "Six-Five-Four-Four-Tango, what are you doing with those cones hanging on the wings and tail?"

I had spent many hours lying awake in preparation for this moment, and I was ready.

Me: "I'm practicing air-to-air refueling."

There was no response.

I met my daughter and prepared to depart, fully convinced that this time the ground control would get me expeditiously to my point of departure.

They gave me taxi clearance back to the same runway.

Refer to the diagram, items (1) through (5).

William K. Kershner, AOPA 084901, is an aviation writer and flight instructor who has been flying for more than 48 years, has taught 433 students aerobatics, and received the 1992 National Instructor of the Year Award.