When I arrived at the airport and saw the windsock dancing atop its pole, the numbers from the weather briefing I?d received earlier came to life. The wind was blowing at 15 knots, with gusts to 22, and variable, from 170 degrees to 220 degrees. At 3,000 feet the wind blew from the south at 26 knots, and at 6,000 feet it was around 30 knots.
It was going to be a great day for a checkride. I had one shot at the practical test, I didn?t want to take the knowledge test again, and the wind would be my enemy. Tension built. And then it went away.
It was a bright, beautiful day to fly. Sure, it was windy, but challenge is one reason flying is fun ? and it had been some time since I?d flown in wind like this. As I watched an airplane bob and weave its way down final approach, it struck me that I possessed the skill and knowledge of a commercial pilot, even though I didn?t have a piece of paper testifying to that.
Being a commercial pilot is more a way of thinking rather than the ability to fly lazy-eights, chandelles, and eights-on pylons. It?s about advanced planning and preparation, which makes a pilot ready to deal with challenges before they arise.
A gusty, variable wind is just such as challenge, and I was looking forward to it. With this anticipation came inner calm. Flying a successful checkride was now secondary. Meeting the wind?s challenge was more important, and I was confident about my ability to do it to my standards of plus or minus nothing.
The wind didn?t abate during the 2.5 hours I spent answering the examiner?s questions. Finally in the Cessna 172, the first of two airplanes I?d fly for the practical test, I lapsed into my usual ?teaching mode.?
From the start of my training I worked on my commercial and CFI concurrently by ?teaching myself.? I talk myself through every phase of the flight, just as I will when I?m a CFI. A benefit to this, I learned, is that in addition to preparing myself for upcoming challenges, it told the examiner what I was seeing, thinking about, and preparing for, so nothing I did surprised him.
A short-field landing was my first challenge, and the examiner said I set a new go-around record ? five. On my second or third attempt I could have met the PTS requirement of landing in the 100 feet that followed my specified landing point, but I wanted to land on it. In achieving mygoal, I also met this task?s first two objectives ? ?Exhibits knowledge of the elements related to a go-around? and ?Makes a timely decision to discontinue the approach to landing.?
The other maneuvers, such as the steep turn and lazy-eight went well. Eights-on a pylon was a roller coaster ride because ground speed determines your pivotal altitude. I was working hard, but I was having fun because I knew I could meet the challenge.
After we traded the 172 for its retractable-gear sibling, the examiner offered his own challenges ? slow flight and stalls. I?d never practiced these in the 172RG, but that didn?t matter. Aerodynamics don?t change, and I just had more to do during slow flight. Flaps down, gear down, and don?t forget to open the cowl flaps. As both student and teacher I was confident of my ability to meet the challenge.
Downwind on the day?s final landing, the examiner issued one last challenge. At midfield he pulled the throttle to idle and said, ?Your flaps don?t work.? I expected him to say that the landing gear was inoperative, too, because electricity powers the gear?s hydraulic pump. But he didn?t, and I was disappointed because, in my mind, I?d already lowered the gear manually.
Afterwards, in the examiner?s office, a warm seed of satisfaction blossomed into an encompassing glow of elation. Not because the examiner was signing my temporary airman certificate, but because I?d met the challenge and learned something new. Confidence is not a blind feeling. It?s the product of an honest analysis of ability to challenge. And, if the ability is equal to the challenge, the execution of confidence is the result of advanced planning and preparation.
