The combat maneuvers pilots have used since World War I are nothing more than variations on the basic aerobatic maneuvers - the loop, the roll, and combinations of the two. Even though I fight against imaginary foes, the freedom to fly around all of the airplane's axes, to climb, dive, and break hard left or right exhilarates me. Aerobatics lets me explore my creative powers by trying new combinations of loops and rolls to evade my unseen enemy.
Aerobatics also fulfills my need for precision, and when I get good enough, I want to put my skill to the test by competing in contests sanctioned by the International Aerobatic Club. Right now, I'm happy when I fly through my prop wash at the end of a loop.
Besides being fun, learning to fly aerobatics (a never-ending process) has made me a better pilot, and it can do the same for you. To explore an aerobatic airplane's three axes fully you must have your head out of the cockpit. The horizon and its relationship to the airplane's nose and wingtips becomes your primary attitude instrument. The position of your arm on the throttle and the sound of the engine and of the wind whistling past the airplane indicates your power and airspeed. For the most part, you're free of needles and numbers. It's heaven.
In effect, learning to fly aerobatics gives you flying's big picture. Rather than applying control inputs by rote, such as adding right rudder on takeoff, you fly with a heightened sense, applying the control inputs that make the airplane do what you want, when you want it. It also gives you a chance to learn first hand the things most pilots only read about.
Every pilot learns that an airplane will stall in any attitude, but how many have actually stalled an airplane in an attitude other than that required for the checkride? Coming down the backside of a loop, with the nose pointed directly at the ground, I pulled to complete the maneuver. Either I pulled too early or too hard, but the nose didn't rise toward the horizon. It stayed put, and the airplane shuddered.
My instructor waited patiently for me to comprehend this previously unseen sight (we were about 4,500 feet above the ground). He then affirmed my observation that "this feels like a stall" and agreed that easing the stick forward to decrease the wing's angle of attack was the recommended recovery. Cool. Airplanes really do stall in any attitude.
This awareness transfers to your "normal" flying - where you don't exceed 60 degrees of bank or 30 degrees of pitch, and it not only makes you a better, more precise pilot, it better prepares you to deal with some of the weird things airplanes do. "Weird" doesn't always mean extreme. It could be something as simple as a Cessna 172's rudder trim tab bent the wrong way, which meant the aircraft needed no right rudder on takeoff, and left rudder to fly straight and level.
This happened to me two nights ago, and I attributed the lack of right rudder to the 15-knot crosswind coming from the airplane's left. Because aerobatics taught me to use the control inputs that make the airplane do what I want, I didn't worry about the "reversed" rudder inputs. I just looked out the window and applied the control inputs that painted the visual picture I wanted.
A lot of pilots say they don't like aerobatics, but in further conversation they turn out to be like kids talking about broccoli - even though they have never tasted it, they hate it and refuse to eat it. Aerobatics may not push every aviator's hot button, but every pilot should consider trying it at least once (with a qualified instructor and in the appropriate airplane, of course). Who knows, you might like it.
