Following a long, careful preflight inspection, we climbed into the cockpit, arranged ourselves and our gear, and began working through the prestart checklist. My partner read; I checked. Everything looked fine, except that my mind seemed to work more slowly than usual. Whereas in the past I could instantly glance at any gauge or grasp any switch without the slightest thought devoted to its location, now I had to consciously think through the process. The difference between smooth, subconscious perceptions and actions and those that require deliberate concentration is amazing, especially in the cockpit environment.
A few minutes later, I taxied out to the engine runup area for the final pretakeoff checks. Just like the cylinder heads and engine oil, my head was warming up. I was thinking a little faster, responding a little quicker to my partner's checklist call-outs.
The acceleration on the takeoff roll was a surprise. We had installed new magnetos, wiring harnesses, and spark plugs, and it made a noticeable difference in smoothness and power. As I gently pulled back on the yoke, the nose pitched up and the airplane helicoptered skyward. I was mesmerized. The climb rate, the sound, the view out of those new, sparklingly clear side windows - it was all different, all new, and I was transfixed.
My partner broke the spell with the tactful observation that the airspeed might be a tad low. It was. I lowered the nose to accelerate, and the mist shrouding my brain began to clear.
Slowed thinking and tunnel vision concentration are not uncommon responses to the avalanche of sensory inputs that characterize the first five minutes of a flight. It's one of the most dynamic times. Everything is changing: airspeed, altitude, heading, ATC communications, and aircraft configuration and power. Depending on the airplane, you may have to retract the landing gear, raise the flaps, switch off the fuel pump and landing light, reduce throttle and propeller rpm, and adjust the mixture - all while monitoring the gauges, making turns, talking to a controller, and watching for conflicting traffic. The landing phase is a busy time as well, but the airplane is slowing and the engine is at low or idle power. That has a calming effect on the mind compared with the stress-inducing noise and acceleration of takeoff and initial climb.
The speed and efficiency with which we process sensory information on takeoff and use it to make informed observations (the climb rate is too slow given the airspeed), arrive at conclusions (a high density altitude is affecting the climb rate), and take action (I must lower the nose and accelerate to a higher indicated airspeed before climbing further) depends on a variety of factors. How experienced am I in the airplane? When did I last fly it? When did I last fly anything? Am I familiar with the departure airport and the weather conditions? Is this a training mission (which can heighten the anxiety level) or a relaxing sightseeing ride? Am I generally having a good day, or did I wake up to discover that the cat used my left shoe for a litterbox?
I can't blame my cats for my behind-the-power-curve performance in the first few moments of my flight. I had arrived at the airport with a number of stressors in place, including marginal proficiency in general and no recent time in my airplane. I can add to that the changes that had been made to the airplane since I last flew it. A new interior meant the physical environment I was used to - colors, smells, the height of the seat cushion-had changed. The airplane clearly had more power and was smoother, and the airframe modifications had resulted in a subtle change in handling. My partner and I were ecstatic with how the airplane had turned out, but we also had to reconfigure our brains to expect a new and different set of sensory data.
I won't have to deal with the new interior factor again for many years, at least when flying my airplane. However, it's highly likely there will be times when I find my proficiency fading. That should be a signal that I may struggle to mentally catch up with the airplane during the first five minutes of flight.
Rather than simply hope for the best in that situation, there are ways to minimize the potential for problems and prepare mentally for the stresses that accompany the beginning of a flight.
- Eliminate unrelated factors that could add an unwelcome degree of difficulty to your flight, such as launching from an unfamiliar airport into unfamiliar airspace. That's a challenge best tackled when you're tack-sharp in the airplane so that you can focus on navigation and communication instead of fiddling to find the right power setting.
- Before going to the airport, spend some quiet time visualizing the cockpit. Run through the appropriate takeoff and climb procedures, reach for the ghost switches and power levers, and scan the phantom instruments and gauges. It's the next best thing to having a simulator at home.
- Pick a good weather day to get back up to speed in the airplane. Marginal ceiling or visibility, turbulence, or strong crosswinds add an unacceptable element of risk.
- Fly with an instructor. A safety pilot is fine, too, provided it is someone who is familiar with and current in the airplane and who won't insist on demonstrating how it's done right by doing all the flying.
- Think through each action. Avoid the tendency when anxious to act first and think later. Very few things require instantaneous response in an airplane. Take your time and talk to yourself as if you are talking to the first officer ("Selecting flaps up").
- Use those checklists. In times of stress, it's easy to become confused and forget things. Checklists will keep you on track.
The best way to look sharp during those active first five minutes of flight is to fly often. Practice makes us proficient.
