Is your instructor all he's cracked up to be?
Any pilot who has been around aviation for a while discovers that the knowledge you need — and the maneuvers that you must perform on a flight test for a certificate or rating — change with time. Some requirements come and go as the rule-writers shift this way and that on what is important. Other items vanish without a trace, even after years in the curriculum.
These periodic changes make for spirited debate among pilots who learned to fly during different eras. Those who demonstrated spins to earn a private pilot certificate years ago cannot believe that anyone might go through training without ever performing (that is, recovering from) one. On the other side of this argument are those who fear that spin training caused more accidents than it prevented; hence only flight instructor applicants must go out and do them nowadays.
Instrument pilots who earned their weather-flying ticket up to a few years ago hoot at the notion that the tradition of suffering through an NDB approach or holding procedure is now something for which loopholes in the practical test standards (PTS) exist, thanks to the advent of nonprecision GPS approaches. Some of the bank-and-yank maneuvers required of single-engine commercial-pilot applicants have gone by the board. There is continued ambivalence about whether to shut down an engine instead of simply idling it during the Vmc drill on a multiengine checkride. Look at the training materials on your aviation bookshelf — it is a good bet that many publications are obsolete in terms of the test standards described.
Is the baby being thrown out with the bath water during each successive PTS revision? This may be a stimulating subject for hangar-flying, but the question does not directly address the matter of how to manufacture a better pilot. To get at this essence, I like to ask pilots — my own former students and other instructors' clients — to critique their own training, based on their subsequent flying experience. This is the aviation equivalent of the classic academic "SWOT" analysis assignment I had to do so many times while working on a business administration degree in college. SWOT stands for "strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats." In business school, the student is assigned to study a company at a critical point in its history. He or she is then asked to perform a SWOT analysis, including a strategic recommendation for future action. Maybe a guy named Gates is taking on the bigwigs of the software industry, or a fellow named Herb Kelleher thinks that he has a better idea for an airline based in Texas. The student is asked to evaluate the situation and "advise" the entrepreneur on what to do next.
Why not apply the same principles to an analysis of your flight training? But don't call the assignment "finished" when you have completed a frank critique of your training's (and by implication, your own piloting's) strengths and weakness. Like the company that faces threats to its competitiveness, the next step is to devise and execute a strategy for shoring up the weak spots and maximizing the strengths. Seize opportunities and preempt threats. Few pilots actually ever formalize this process. Perhaps if they were polled by the powers that be about their training on its completion — as graduating students are often called upon to do during academic "exit interviews" — the aviation community could make better decisions about what kinds of knowledge and skills pilots need today, and which exercises just waste time and money.
Individual pilots' perspectives shape the critiques offered. A former student who earned her private pilot certificate in a single-engine Cessna, but now flies big jets for Uncle Sam, decried the lack of aerobatic flying in the civilian pilot-training curriculum. Not just spins, but really learning how to fly the airplane when the horizon isn't cooperating, is important, she said. Having had this deficiency removed from her own skill set in the military removed some nagging doubts left over at the end of her civilian training.
More than one instrument pilot I have "polled" wondered aloud if there should be a requirement for a minimum number of hours of flight under actual instrument meteorological conditions when training for the instrument rating. They know that this is impractical in some locales, but they point out that no amount of hood time (when you can throw off the blinders and "go visual" at any time) prepares you for a heavy dose of the real thing. To this I add the observation that an understanding of the weather phenomena that cause IMC to exist is a surface that barely gets scratched in routine instrument training. Fortunately, this is one subject the curious student can delve into independently with home study.
Flight-instructor applicants practice flying from the right seat, filling out logbooks with the correct phrases, and evaluating their own instructors playing the part of make-believe student pilots practicing maneuvers during sessions of mock dual instruction. But for many, the first contact with a real, live trainee happens only after the business cards have been printed up and that first customer calls. Here again, the simulation is a far cry from the real thing.
And the new CFI may be called upon to use certain skills — of temperament, quick reaction, and on-the-spot innovation — that rarely, if ever, were demanded during training.
Sometimes the realization of what was missing from one's training occurs under trying circumstances. A private pilot turned down for a rental airplane came away humiliated and despondent but knowing that it was time to get more instruction in crosswind landings. A recipient of a pink slip after a checkride gone awry during the oral portion was suddenly aware that his instructor's indifference to ground preparation and the contents of the pilot's operating handbook was not shared by the local designated examiner. No matter how a pilot acquires the understanding that certain gaps still exist in the expected level of knowledge or skill, he should not simply denounce past failures and move on. Take action to remedy the problems before they become part of an event chain culminating in damage or injury.
A pilot does not need to be in immediate pursuit of a new rating to request more dual instruction. Or, if you check the latest standards for your own kind of flying and find that the requirements have changed since the last time you underwent an examination or flight review, ask yourself if aviation's watchdogs have discovered some of the shortcomings for you — saving you the trouble of discovering them the hard way.
Practice Area: Spins: The Good, Bad, and Hairy
Sampling spins in the Cessna Aerobat
By William K. Kershner
If a placard on the panel indicates that "intentional spins are prohibited," you are a test pilot if you spin that airplane.
I found this out by spinning an F4U-5N at my squadron a few weeks after getting my wings.
The squadron policy was that there was to be no deliberate spinning of the F4U, and the pilot's handbook said, "Warning: No intentional spinning of the model F4U-5 airplane is permitted." It then continued, "The spinning and spin recovery characteristics of this airplane are somewhat more severe than those of the earlier F4U-type airplanes." (I didn't know the spin characteristics of the "earlier F4U-type airplanes," so I had nothing with which to compare.)
Such warnings were obviously intended for lesser pilots than I. Naturally, the squadron and handbook had to protect those of just average flying abilities.
I climbed the Corsair to 12,000 feet out in the practice area and put it into a spin. I don't recall the spin direction.
At about 10,000 feet I decided to recover, using the Aeronca Champ/SNJ technique. The airplane said, "No."
At 8,000 feet (or thereabouts), since nothing seemed to be working, I considered leaving it. I'd heard of pilots breaking both legs bailing out of a Corsair (a bad situation for a parachute landing), and how could I explain why I left a fine airplane?
Perhaps I remembered the proper procedure, or the airplane, realizing that it was in imminent danger of destruction, decided that enough was enough (OK, Junior, I have it); there was a recovery — at slightly above a normal traffic pattern altitude.
I flew back to the naval air station, holding my bank angle to no more than three degrees. (What if this thing stalled?)
It took three days for me to get overconfident again. One F4U spin, however, was enough, thanks — I wasn't that confident.
I read the pilot's handbook again and saw a note that I had apparently overlooked: "It is...recommended that the airplane in a well-developed spin should be abandoned only if the recovery controls cannot be applied and held and/or the airplane reaches an altitude below 5,000 feet." Which altitude I did pass through — and then some.
The moral is — don't be a test pilot. If you fully spin a normal category general aviation airplane, be prepared (if successful) to write to the manufacturer and describe what happened in a developed spin; it might be useful information for the company.
For most of the general aviation airplanes that I've spun (30 types/models), the first two turns are the incipient phase. That is, the aerodynamic forces and moments the pilot has induced by use of the aerodynamic controls in the entry (whether accidentally or deliberately) are building up the inertial moments toward a possible lock-in. Your trainer may use more or less than two turns in the incipient phase.
Some pilots are worried about spins, approaching spin training with hesitation or outright fear. I have the most respect for the latter because they are fighting an anxiety they have had since starting flying. I've noted a number of cases (told to me, or that I've read about) of flight instructors spinning students on their first flight lesson to "see if they could take it," with a result of either students quitting outright or carrying a fear of stalls and spins throughout their flying careers. People who have this anxiety may later clutch in an approaching stall/spin situation and actually end up in the condition they have feared — with fatal results. After a few spins with a full briefing beforehand, relief is quite evident, and they start to put their full weight on the seat. The first spin can be disorienting, with the ground references blurring around. At this writing, I've had more than 500 people take the aerobatic course and another 330 who've had spin demos; and the first-time spinners are usually jubilant in their relief after the fact.
Some points to consider in spin instruction:
Altitude — This is the important item both from a safety standpoint and the trainee's (and instructor's) ease of mind. If the person in the left, or front, seat is not using enough forward wheel or stick movement, the instructor has time to calmly (?) review the anti-spin procedure and perhaps "assist" with the recovery. If it seems that the recovery is delayed (the trainee is not being "brisk" enough on the forward movement of the yoke or stick), for Pete's sake, don't turn to him or her and say, "It looks like we're in trouble. You stay here; I'm going for help." (Assuming you have a parachute.)
FAR 91.303 allows spins down to 1,500 feet agl, but 3,000 feet agl is the absolute minimum altitude for my spin recoveries during training. This also is the minimum altitude I would pick for leaving the airplane if things went wrong. A preflight briefing on exiting the airplane must be done.
Vertical airspace required for various spin turns for the Cessna 150 and 152 is: one turn — 1,000 feet (So this would mean that the minimum entry altitude would be 4,000 feet agl); two turns — 1,500 feet with a minimum entry at 4,500 feet agl; three turns — 1,800 feet.
Extended spins — Expect a minimum requirement of 200 feet per turn. Twenty-turn spins in the 150 and 152 require slightly more than 4,000 feet of vertical airspace, and 25 turns will be close to 5,000 feet. This is likely also to be close to the requirement for trainers of the same weights, but I always stay on the conservative side.
Turns — For student, recreational, private, or commercial pilots who are getting spin training for safety and confidence building, usually one, two, and three turns are enough to show the impending spin (one turn), the incipient phase (up to two turns), and the developed spin (three turns). (Some trainers may still be in the incipient phase at three turns.)
I take CFI aspirants to a higher number of turns (usually to 20 turns, and this for only one lesson) for two reasons: (1) To show that the pilot's operating handbook (POH) recovery procedure works as well at 20 as at three turns, and do away with that (again) "what happens if the student gets me past three (or six) turns" question. I emphasize that (again) the pilot seeking instruction on how to recognize and recover from an impending or incipient spin doesn't need to spin 20 turns. (2) This spin is done over the 5,000-foot runway of an uncontrolled airport, starting at 7,500 feet agl. The engine of the 152 at half fuel will usually quit (and the prop stop) at about 13 turns; I want the CFI applicant to encounter this under controlled and briefed conditions rather than suddenly discover it on his own if a student takes the airplane to the point of engine stoppage. If the engine quits on a dual spin flight and the new instructor is unaware that this can happen, the response might be confusion as the spin continues at a rate of descent of 7,500 feet per minute. The point made is that the recovery from the spin is paramount, and engine problems can be worked out later. (In a couple of cases, the trainee was trying to start the engine while we were still spinning.) Recover from the spin and then use the starter.
While parachutes are not required for CFI spin training, they are worn when demonstrating spins out of a loop and from a snap roll.
A spin from the loop is to show that, in the Aerobat, even though the airplane is in an inverted attitude at the top of a loop, "pulling" back on the yoke and stalling (with judicious use of rudder) results in a normal upright spin after some interesting gyrations.
The spin from the snap roll is to show that, because of the lower relative density of the Aerobat as compared to other airplanes, even accelerated entries decay to the same rate of descent and rotation after two turns. In other words, based on 6,000 spins in this airplane, some up to 25 turns, I have found that the recovery procedure is the same, no matter the number of spin turns (after the two turns of the incipient spin) or manner in which it is entered.
I've found during spins in different Aerobats, that the POH (or information manual) procedures have always resulted in a positive and rapid recovery from the spin.
Power is used in the 152 to assure a good spin entry, particularly to the right, whereas for the 150 — with its lighter engine — this is not always necessary.
The 152s I've spun were reluctant to stay in a right spin and would start picking up airspeed, so the best move would be to relax back pressure slightly as G forces start to build up (don't try to force the spin by adding back pressure) and then ease out of the spiral with coordinated controls.
It is always best, when spinning in an unfamiliar C150 or C152, to not suddenly leap into a 20-turn spin, but to gradually build up turns, since rigging and control-cable tension may have deteriorated over the years for a particular airplane. One crude method is to have the student sit in the cockpit on the ramp (engine dead), holding the control wheel full forward, while the instructor tries to raise the elevator (use the left one on the 150s and 152s). If the elevator can be moved, there is probably cable slop. The same exercise may be applied to the rudder pedals and rudder.
Spins and instruments — I used to teach spins under the hood if the trainee so desired, but now I use demonstrations (without the hood) of the instrument indications in the spin and during and after the recovery. The indications are:
Airspeed — Low, close to, or at zero, with oscillations in a narrow range of values.
Altimeter — Rapidly unwinding, since the rate of descent is 5,500 to 7,500 fpm, depending on the model (C150) or 7,500 fpm (C152).
Vertical Speed Indicator — Pegged at minus 2,000 fpm (its limit).
Attitude Indicator — Unreliable for most airplanes and should be ignored to be on the safe side. I can use mine to recover from a spin an average of seven times out of 10; that's not good enough.
Heading Indicator — The direction of the spin in my airplane is difficult-to-impossible to detect by the actions of the heading indicator. It will start to turn and seem to indicate a direction, but catches and reverses, repeating this throughout the spin, so there's a 50/50 chance of guessing which way the spin is proceeding. Not good enough.
Turn and Slip (the needle) — The ball in this instrument will be to the left on the pilot's side of the panel, and if there is a slip indicator on the right side of the panel, it will be to the right, regardless of the rotation direction (Cessna 150, 152; Piper Cherokee; Beech Musketeer; and others).
In an upright spin, the roll and yaw are in the same direction and the needle or the small airplane in the turn coordinator will give the proper indications of spin direction (use rudder against the indication of yaw — if the needle or small airplane is displaced to the left, use full right rudder).
In an inverted spin, the roll and yaw are opposite, but the rudder is still used against the deflected needle in the turn and slip. The turn coordinator will indicate both roll and yaw, but cannot separate the two if the roll and yaw are in opposite directions, as in the situation of an inverted spin. Warnings about the turn coordinator have been noted in the literature.
The recovery for the upright spin using this method is to:
Assure that the throttle is closed.
Neutralize the ailerons (they will tend to go pro-spin in these airplanes, which can delay the recovery because the rate of rotation will increase). It will take definite pressure on the wheel to keep them neutral.
Apply full rudder opposite to the needle or small-airplane direction of turn.
As soon as the rudder hits the stop, apply brisk forward motion of the control wheel. (Do not wait for a "slowing or stopping of the rotation" as some texts suggest, but move the wheel forward immediately after the antispin rudder is applied.)
Check the airspeed. As soon as it starts increasing, neutralize the rudder and start back pressure to ease out of the dive.
Continue the pull-out until the airspeed hesitates (usually between 110 and 120 knots), then relax back pressure (or, more likely, use forward pressure) to stop the altimeter at the closest 100-foot hand indication. Pulling out at the speeds noted, you will be pulling between 2.5 and 3 Gs. (This is for those who are spinning a straight 150/152 with no G meter available.)
Get back to the turn coordinator or needle and keep it centered as you keep the altimeter fixed on the selected altitude.
The airspeed will decay from the pull-out speed as you maintain altitude (it has to decay, since it's hard to keep a constant altitude with the power at idle without the airspeed decreasing), and as it approaches the normal cruise airspeed (about 85 knots), power is returned to the normal cruise power. Keep checking the turn indicator to keep the wings level during the level-flight deceleration to cruise airspeed. The airplane can be climbed back up to a chosen altitude and heading (on instruments) in a real situation or to start the fun all over again.
New Pilot's Journal: Iced over the Apple
What to do when the problems multiply
By David A. Kugler
This is a difficult story to tell. No pilot ever wants to admit that he or she almost crashed and burned, especially over Manhattan.
It was one of those clear, beautiful, late winter days. There were few clouds and visibility was unlimited. There was a cold front to the west, bringing some stiff westerly winds. After a long, brutal winter it was great to get some good flying weather.
Private pilots invest their time and money for many reasons. One of the main ones, for me, is the vision of using my ticket for business. Flying to meetings, conducting power lunches at the airport, and arriving home in time for the Little League game. That's the vision.
We launched out of Baltimore early in the morning en route to my business meeting at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire. I was a student pilot with previous experience, but it was to be a long trip, with typically questionable winter weather, so good sense prevailed when I asked John, an instrument-rated instructor, to join me on the adventure.
During the first leg of the trip, the weather turned out to be good, but the winds were 70 knots on the tail. We made great time over New York State and Vermont in our Cessna 172, traveling 170 knots across the ground. The trip lasted all of three hours. We found the airport at Hanover and, planning for wind shear, made a great-looking crosswind landing.
The rental car was waiting, and the service people at the airport said that they would have our aircraft fueled and ready to go on our return. Things couldn't have been better.
The meetings were successful. John wandered around the beautiful New England college town, finding food, drink, bookstores, and friendly people. A couple of hours later, we rendezvoused at the town square, climbed into the rental car, and searched for the airport. Finding the airport again was the toughest part of the trip thus far.
We prepared to launch for the journey home, a little tired and dehydrated, but ready nonetheless. It's funny how a 70-knot tailwind going one way often turns into a 70-knot headwind when you are traveling the other way. We climbed to altitude, cleared the local mountains, and began navigating for home. It quickly became clear that it would be a long flight.
On the trip up, we had the luxury of taking the long way around New York City; the tailwind made it almost painless. It wasn't going to be painless on the trip home. To beat the westerly wind we turned south and headed for the Big Apple. Since the weather was clear, we climbed higher to remain above New York's Class B airspace. At 8,500 feet, the outside air temperature was just above freezing.
It was a beautiful evening. We ran south down the Hudson River. Soon the George Washington Bridge spanned below us, and to the left lay the core of the Big Apple. John had never visited the great Gotham, so I deviated slightly eastward to permit some sightseeing.
The scene was perfect. Central Park and the Empire State Building passed beneath us; then we adjusted heading to set course for the World Trade Center and Battery Park, followed, not far away, by the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor.
Over lower Manhattan I noticed some trouble developing. We were leaned to run about 2,600 rpm; we needed the extra power to combat the severe headwind. Fuel wasn't a big problem, since our 172 was equipped with extended-range tanks.
It was a classic example of carburetor ice. I noticed a degradation of between 100 and 150 rpm in engine performance. We were operating in clear air, with the outside air temperature just below freezing.
With good crew coordination, we talked briefly, and I applied carburetor heat, hopeful that it would clear the problem. That cost us another 150 rpm.
Now I had altitude problems. We were slowly descending into the New York Class B, with airplanes to the left of us and airplanes to the right of us. To maintain altitude with the carb heat applied, I was flying along over New York Harbor with the control wheel in my lap.
After I turned the 172 into the wind, our loran indicated a groundspeed of 30 knots. Using good old-fashioned navigation — that is, by looking out the window — I confirmed that we were, in fact, doing about 30 knots, but it was 30 knots backwards. I was pointing at New Jersey, but Coney Island, stretching behind us, was getting closer.
After a few minutes of this, we removed the carb heat and recouped most of our missing rpm. We climbed back to an appropriate altitude of 8,500 feet and turned toward Philadelphia.
Of course, no sooner did we do that than did the iceman returneth. Now we were running at 2,400 rpm, and carb heat wasn't going to fix it. Not at 8,500 feet. Slow flight or not, we were heading lower. The top of the Class B airspace is 7,000 feet, and the La Guardia and Kennedy approach corridors were getting closer as we transited south toward the inbound traffic.
I had just read a profile of controllers at New York Approach in the New York Times Magazine, and it was not pretty. Those people are overworked, stressed out, and underpaid. So I was expecting a good old Bronx cheer when we interrupted their evening.
John kept it short and to the point. He explained who we were, where we were, the fact that we were experiencing carburetor icing, and that we needed a lower altitude direct to Philadelphia. Thirty seconds later, the controller was back with a transponder code, clearance into the Class B, and a steer to Philly. First he gave us 6,500 feet and asked us to wait briefly for 4,500 feet. As we nosed it over and the Skyhawk responded, the groundspeed quickly turned positive and the carb heat did its job. One frequency change later we were cleared to 4,500 feet and were homeward-bound.
As the airplane was heading to Philly, the engine performed smoothly. We essentially received clearance direct through Philadelphia and Wilmington, resulting in an uneventful landing at Baltimore, always the best kind.
Thanks to the long-range tanks, we were fine on fuel. And thanks to confessing the problem, which none of us likes to do, we were able to get the professional help that we needed. Aviate, navigate, and communicate, in that order. When you are having trouble with the first or second task, don't hesitate to move to the third.
David A. Kugler, AOPA 1283730, of Kensington, Maryland, is currently a business owner. He holds a private pilot certificate and has added 110 hours in civilian aircraft to the 1,200 hours accumulated as a Naval flight officer.
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