When the confidence factor was there, the flight was a breeze for there was no apparent physical or mental effort to do what had to be done.
It was Father?s Day 1998, and my son had invited me to his digs to dine on spiced shrimp, T-bone steak, cold beer; and to watch the U.S. Open golf tournament on his big screen TV. Payne Stewart and Lee Janzen were working their way down the back nine. Stewart started the day with a nice lead and Janzen was making his move. ?Janzen is going to win this tournament,? I said.
?And, just how did you come to that great conclusion?? my son asked.
?It?s a matter of confidence!? I said. ?Next time the camera shows a close up of their faces, you?ll see that Janzen?s face beams confidence ? no wrinkles, nice grin, quite at ease with the mechanics of his game, and he?ll make the shots he has to make. Then, look at Stewart ? a hint of a grimace, a show of tension that reflects he?s not quite sure what stick he wants to hit and how to hit it. He?s going to miss some shots he has to make.?
And, of course, I was right. Janzen did win the tournament by one stroke, when Payne Stewart missed a putt on the 18th green that he had to make in order to force a playoff for the title.
When my son questioned my perspicacity, I told him that reading faces was an acquired skill that had surfaced when I was in the U.S. Air Force and Air National Guard, doing annual aircraft proficiency and instrument flight checks. Whether I had known and flown with the pilot to be checked or not, I could tell by the pilot?s facial expression and general demeanor whether that pilot had confidence in his ability to overcome whatever flight problem I could conjure up. Sometimes, it came to me in the pre-flight briefing, sometimes when we settled into the cockpit to start the engines, and sometimes when we started a phase of the flight check.
When the confidence factor was there, the flight was a breeze for there was no apparent physical or mental effort to do what had to be done. If not, the pilot?s performance would never really be great but only adequate enough to pass the check. On the one hand, the confident pilot appeared to make all the right moves without hesitation, and, now and then, I could detect that certain smile or grin as he accomplished each maneuver or phase of flight. On the other hand, I could see a tad of mounting tension and sweat when the pilot appeared to be just a little unsure of what to do next ? just like selecting the right club for the right occasion and how to hit it.
A specific flight comes to mind. A fellow Civil Air Patrol pilot asked me to ride along with him so he could don the instrument flying hood on a flight from Andrews AFB, across the Chesapeake Bay to Maryland?s Easton Airport. There, he wanted me to monitor his performance as he flew a series of NDB approaches. I was not a check pilot, and this was not any kind of check, but he deferred to my greater instrument flying experience for comments.
After he settled in the cockpit, the first thing he did was to put a patch of Velcro on the instrument panel and stick a stopwatch to it. I wondered why he didn?t have confidence in the perfectly good clock on the panel but then, I thought, use whatever works. The pilot fastened the Easton NDB approach chart to a clipboard that sat precariously on his knee. As we approached the NDB, he studied the approach chart several times. When we were over the beacon, he punched the stopwatch and said he was going to fly outbound. He checked the chart again.
His preoccupation with the chart and the stopwatch caused him to divert his attention away from the altimeter, so we began to drift off a bit. I noticed that he didn?t track well going outbound to where he was going to initiate a procedure turn. He punched the stopwatch back to zero and timed his turn. When he thought he was on the right course, he turned inbound toward the beacon and for reasons of his own, he fixed the stopwatch again.
An approximate 10-knot crosswind blew from the right. I assumed that he would correct for the crosswind and establish a track along the ground to the beacon where he would have to change course slightly to a heading that would line up with the airport.
?Tell me when you have the airport in sight,? I said. I watched what he was doing and kept Easton traffic posted on Unicom. As we progressed inbound, I could tell that what he was doing wasn?t going to make the approach work. He kept checking the time, but instead of tracking he simply followed the needle to the station. I could see a few tell-tale beads of sweat on his brow and, because he was wearing gloves, I could only sense that his knuckles were white. When we passed the beacon, he changed course and reset the stopwatch. After the designated number of minutes and seconds, I expected to hear, ?Airport in sight? but that didn?t come until some 20-30 seconds later.
?Pop the hood, ? I said, ?and show me the airport.?
The airport wasn?t where it was supposed to be. Somebody had moved it about two miles back off the right wing. What followed was discussion, a demonstration of how to track, the need for precision on this non-precision approach, and how to keep track of time, stopwatch or no.
All of the signs indicative of a lack of confidence were present, and ? like those puzzles where you have to find the hidden figures ? a careful reader can spot them. To this pilot?s credit, he responded to my demonstration and instruction so that his subsequent approaches improved one after the other. Confidence grew within him, and in time, I even got him to abandon the stopwatch. How does a pilot acquire the confidence to play this game?
The first step would appear to be the development of a ?can do? attitude that starts with the first instructional flight and carries through pilot certification and subsequent proficiency check flights. Confidence destroyers may come in many forms ? a hard landing, failing to correctly battle a turbulent crosswind, tuning in the wrong frequency and not catching the error, a flight instructor who is unnecessarily cruel when it comes to detected deficiencies, and on and on.
Generally, all confidence destroyers are fixable, including instructors, providing the pilot can recognize what is wrong and put a fix on it. One of the best ways to recognize what?s ?wrong? is to get a second opinion. Fly with an instructor periodically, have him critique your airmanship, and then work with the CFI to regain your proficiency ? and confidence.
One good way to get this second opinion is to participate in the FAA Pilot Proficiency Award (Wings) program. This program has 20 phases, or levels, and with the first 10 phases you get a nifty set of wings for your lapel. The requirements for completing each phase are the same ? attend an FAA-sanctioned safety seminar (advertised by the quarter-folded notices the FAA mails to current pilots), and fly with an instructor for three hours, divided into one hour each of airwork, hoodwork, and work in the pattern. As an added benefit, completing a phase of the wings program counts as a flight review. Having recognized soft spots in your technique and ability, what would be the next step? A famous musician was once asked what made him a success, and his response was ?Practice, practice, practice!? What makes a professional golfer great? Same answer, ?Practice, practice, practice.? That is where confidence builds as they work on their soft spots until they harden into concrete performance.
One of the truly magnificent joys of flying is to leap off the ground on a severe clear, cloudless day and, to borrow words from John Gillespie Magee and his poem, ?High Flight,? ?dance the skies on laughter-silvered wings ? and do a hundred things you have not dreamed of.? Wonderful stuff, but boring holes in the sky isn?t designed to hone skills. So, ?slip the surly bonds of earth? and ?wheel, soar and swing high in the sunlight silence? now and then, but come back to basics with regularity. If maintaining a specific altitude is a problem, set an altitude and concentrate on keeping the altimeter right on that mark. If approach and landing speeds and flare to landing give you a headache, take a couple of aspirin tablets and keep doing touch-and-go landings until your speed and airplane control become second nature and purely routine. Should you bounce on a landing or two, take a few seconds to examine your technique and see if you can put your finger on what went wrong.
When and if you become instrument rated, altitude and airspeed control is imperative and, because you?ve practiced, practiced, practiced, you can fly an instrument approach with the confidence and precision that a precision instrument approach demands. You will be working with a skill that has been developed through those hours of practice and when you break out of the clouds at decision height, you can light up your face with a big smile of satisfaction.
I confess that I?m intolerant of sloppy flying. Some time ago I wrote about going cross-country on a VFR flight with a high-time pilot in the left seat. We were supposed to be cruising at 7,500 feet in this lovely, cloudless sky, but he wandered up and down a couple of hundred feet each way. When I casually reminded him that our clearance altitude was 7,500 feet and asked him why he wasn?t there, he said, ?I can do it if I have to.? And, my response was, ?If you do it all the time, wouldn?t it be easier to do it when you have to??
My point was and is that being precise all the time builds confidence and reduces the opportunities for mistakes that can lead to trouble. What this pilot obviously needed was an attitude adjustment and a huge dose of self-discipline. The time to begin is immediately and the time to stop is never.
Bless the flight instructor who can tolerate an honest mistake made by a student who is learning to fly, but who never lets up on demanding precision. When you have two pilots in a cockpit, you have the luxury of one pilot who can monitor what the other is doing, but you also have an inherent responsibility to speak up when you see a deviation from an approved flight path or pattern. On solo flights, all of the responsibility rests on the shoulders of that single pilot. That?s where self-discipline comes into play. Nobody is there to tap the pilot on the shoulder or to whisper or shout, if need be, to restore reality. Cockpit resource management becomes a solo performance. Want to play the confidence game? Start building a ?can do? attitude. Identify and eradicate confidence destroyers. If you can?t find answers to your own problems, ask for and heed advice. Practice, practice, practice! Demand precision from yourself all of the time. Acquire the self-discipline necessary to strive for perfection. Let tension drain out of you and replace it with comfort in the knowledge that you can, to quote Magee again, ?top the windswept heights with easy grace where never lark or even eagle flew.?
The flying confidence game is not unlike the Lee Janzen win at the U.S. Open. Practice. Can do. Practice. The discipline to pick the right stick and hit it with precision born of confidence. Practice. Swing with easy grace. Smile to yourself because you know you are on the right track. And, if you watched the end of the U.S. Open, Lee Janzen did let the tears flow for he knew on that day, at least, he did it perfectly and won the confidence game.
?And, just how did you come to that great conclusion?? my son asked.
?It?s a matter of confidence!? I said. ?Next time the camera shows a close up of their faces, you?ll see that Janzen?s face beams confidence ? no wrinkles, nice grin, quite at ease with the mechanics of his game, and he?ll make the shots he has to make. Then, look at Stewart ? a hint of a grimace, a show of tension that reflects he?s not quite sure what stick he wants to hit and how to hit it. He?s going to miss some shots he has to make.?
And, of course, I was right. Janzen did win the tournament by one stroke, when Payne Stewart missed a putt on the 18th green that he had to make in order to force a playoff for the title.
When my son questioned my perspicacity, I told him that reading faces was an acquired skill that had surfaced when I was in the U.S. Air Force and Air National Guard, doing annual aircraft proficiency and instrument flight checks. Whether I had known and flown with the pilot to be checked or not, I could tell by the pilot?s facial expression and general demeanor whether that pilot had confidence in his ability to overcome whatever flight problem I could conjure up. Sometimes, it came to me in the pre-flight briefing, sometimes when we settled into the cockpit to start the engines, and sometimes when we started a phase of the flight check.
When the confidence factor was there, the flight was a breeze for there was no apparent physical or mental effort to do what had to be done. If not, the pilot?s performance would never really be great but only adequate enough to pass the check. On the one hand, the confident pilot appeared to make all the right moves without hesitation, and, now and then, I could detect that certain smile or grin as he accomplished each maneuver or phase of flight. On the other hand, I could see a tad of mounting tension and sweat when the pilot appeared to be just a little unsure of what to do next ? just like selecting the right club for the right occasion and how to hit it.
A specific flight comes to mind. A fellow Civil Air Patrol pilot asked me to ride along with him so he could don the instrument flying hood on a flight from Andrews AFB, across the Chesapeake Bay to Maryland?s Easton Airport. There, he wanted me to monitor his performance as he flew a series of NDB approaches. I was not a check pilot, and this was not any kind of check, but he deferred to my greater instrument flying experience for comments.
After he settled in the cockpit, the first thing he did was to put a patch of Velcro on the instrument panel and stick a stopwatch to it. I wondered why he didn?t have confidence in the perfectly good clock on the panel but then, I thought, use whatever works. The pilot fastened the Easton NDB approach chart to a clipboard that sat precariously on his knee. As we approached the NDB, he studied the approach chart several times. When we were over the beacon, he punched the stopwatch and said he was going to fly outbound. He checked the chart again.
His preoccupation with the chart and the stopwatch caused him to divert his attention away from the altimeter, so we began to drift off a bit. I noticed that he didn?t track well going outbound to where he was going to initiate a procedure turn. He punched the stopwatch back to zero and timed his turn. When he thought he was on the right course, he turned inbound toward the beacon and for reasons of his own, he fixed the stopwatch again.
An approximate 10-knot crosswind blew from the right. I assumed that he would correct for the crosswind and establish a track along the ground to the beacon where he would have to change course slightly to a heading that would line up with the airport.
?Tell me when you have the airport in sight,? I said. I watched what he was doing and kept Easton traffic posted on Unicom. As we progressed inbound, I could tell that what he was doing wasn?t going to make the approach work. He kept checking the time, but instead of tracking he simply followed the needle to the station. I could see a few tell-tale beads of sweat on his brow and, because he was wearing gloves, I could only sense that his knuckles were white. When we passed the beacon, he changed course and reset the stopwatch. After the designated number of minutes and seconds, I expected to hear, ?Airport in sight? but that didn?t come until some 20-30 seconds later.
?Pop the hood, ? I said, ?and show me the airport.?
The airport wasn?t where it was supposed to be. Somebody had moved it about two miles back off the right wing. What followed was discussion, a demonstration of how to track, the need for precision on this non-precision approach, and how to keep track of time, stopwatch or no.
All of the signs indicative of a lack of confidence were present, and ? like those puzzles where you have to find the hidden figures ? a careful reader can spot them. To this pilot?s credit, he responded to my demonstration and instruction so that his subsequent approaches improved one after the other. Confidence grew within him, and in time, I even got him to abandon the stopwatch. How does a pilot acquire the confidence to play this game?
The first step would appear to be the development of a ?can do? attitude that starts with the first instructional flight and carries through pilot certification and subsequent proficiency check flights. Confidence destroyers may come in many forms ? a hard landing, failing to correctly battle a turbulent crosswind, tuning in the wrong frequency and not catching the error, a flight instructor who is unnecessarily cruel when it comes to detected deficiencies, and on and on.
Generally, all confidence destroyers are fixable, including instructors, providing the pilot can recognize what is wrong and put a fix on it. One of the best ways to recognize what?s ?wrong? is to get a second opinion. Fly with an instructor periodically, have him critique your airmanship, and then work with the CFI to regain your proficiency ? and confidence.
One good way to get this second opinion is to participate in the FAA Pilot Proficiency Award (Wings) program. This program has 20 phases, or levels, and with the first 10 phases you get a nifty set of wings for your lapel. The requirements for completing each phase are the same ? attend an FAA-sanctioned safety seminar (advertised by the quarter-folded notices the FAA mails to current pilots), and fly with an instructor for three hours, divided into one hour each of airwork, hoodwork, and work in the pattern. As an added benefit, completing a phase of the wings program counts as a flight review. Having recognized soft spots in your technique and ability, what would be the next step? A famous musician was once asked what made him a success, and his response was ?Practice, practice, practice!? What makes a professional golfer great? Same answer, ?Practice, practice, practice.? That is where confidence builds as they work on their soft spots until they harden into concrete performance.
One of the truly magnificent joys of flying is to leap off the ground on a severe clear, cloudless day and, to borrow words from John Gillespie Magee and his poem, ?High Flight,? ?dance the skies on laughter-silvered wings ? and do a hundred things you have not dreamed of.? Wonderful stuff, but boring holes in the sky isn?t designed to hone skills. So, ?slip the surly bonds of earth? and ?wheel, soar and swing high in the sunlight silence? now and then, but come back to basics with regularity. If maintaining a specific altitude is a problem, set an altitude and concentrate on keeping the altimeter right on that mark. If approach and landing speeds and flare to landing give you a headache, take a couple of aspirin tablets and keep doing touch-and-go landings until your speed and airplane control become second nature and purely routine. Should you bounce on a landing or two, take a few seconds to examine your technique and see if you can put your finger on what went wrong.
When and if you become instrument rated, altitude and airspeed control is imperative and, because you?ve practiced, practiced, practiced, you can fly an instrument approach with the confidence and precision that a precision instrument approach demands. You will be working with a skill that has been developed through those hours of practice and when you break out of the clouds at decision height, you can light up your face with a big smile of satisfaction.
I confess that I?m intolerant of sloppy flying. Some time ago I wrote about going cross-country on a VFR flight with a high-time pilot in the left seat. We were supposed to be cruising at 7,500 feet in this lovely, cloudless sky, but he wandered up and down a couple of hundred feet each way. When I casually reminded him that our clearance altitude was 7,500 feet and asked him why he wasn?t there, he said, ?I can do it if I have to.? And, my response was, ?If you do it all the time, wouldn?t it be easier to do it when you have to??
My point was and is that being precise all the time builds confidence and reduces the opportunities for mistakes that can lead to trouble. What this pilot obviously needed was an attitude adjustment and a huge dose of self-discipline. The time to begin is immediately and the time to stop is never.
Bless the flight instructor who can tolerate an honest mistake made by a student who is learning to fly, but who never lets up on demanding precision. When you have two pilots in a cockpit, you have the luxury of one pilot who can monitor what the other is doing, but you also have an inherent responsibility to speak up when you see a deviation from an approved flight path or pattern. On solo flights, all of the responsibility rests on the shoulders of that single pilot. That?s where self-discipline comes into play. Nobody is there to tap the pilot on the shoulder or to whisper or shout, if need be, to restore reality. Cockpit resource management becomes a solo performance. Want to play the confidence game? Start building a ?can do? attitude. Identify and eradicate confidence destroyers. If you can?t find answers to your own problems, ask for and heed advice. Practice, practice, practice! Demand precision from yourself all of the time. Acquire the self-discipline necessary to strive for perfection. Let tension drain out of you and replace it with comfort in the knowledge that you can, to quote Magee again, ?top the windswept heights with easy grace where never lark or even eagle flew.?
The flying confidence game is not unlike the Lee Janzen win at the U.S. Open. Practice. Can do. Practice. The discipline to pick the right stick and hit it with precision born of confidence. Practice. Swing with easy grace. Smile to yourself because you know you are on the right track. And, if you watched the end of the U.S. Open, Lee Janzen did let the tears flow for he knew on that day, at least, he did it perfectly and won the confidence game.
John A. Pope
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