Every pilot on the face of the Earth - the honest ones, anyway - will admit that their skills aren't as sharp as they'd like them to be. This is especially true of new pilots. And the things that bother new pilots the most are crosswinds, weather, and that's about it until you get to short runways, mountain flying, and a few other exotic areas.
But that's OK. The reason that you've got some doubts and hang back when the wind is blowing is that you have some common sense. A good rule to follow in aviation is, if you aren't comfortable with the situation, don't push it. Of course, if you adhere to that rule religiously, you'll find yourself avoiding the edges of your personal envelope so much that the edges begin to close in until they smother you. You'll always be finding reasons not to go flying. But there is a way around this.
Imagine yourself wanting to go flying (not much of a stretch, right?) and deciding that you can't because your skill in (you fill in the blank) isn't up to handling that particular day. Grab a pencil and paper and write down a list of all those things that concern you in flying. Certainly crosswinds will be on the top of the list. Maybe concerns about engine failures are second. Do clouds or reduced visibility appear on the list? What about turbulence? Let your imagination run and let your fears hang out. Put whatever has been keeping you from flying on the list. Lack of money doesn't count. That's universal.
Now, sit back and look at the list. In all probability, it's not very long. Holding that in your hand, call your old flight instructor. Make a date to design a 10-hour training program aimed at addressing nothing but those areas that make you uncomfortable. This is going to be focused, really hard-core training, and your instructor has to know that. When you were working toward your certificate, the lessons had to be balanced and aimed at preparing you for the flight test. This time they aren't meant to be balanced. The goal here is to examine the skills that worry you and hone a sharp edge on them.
Plan to devote three hours to nothing but crosswinds, even if you already feel comfortable with them. This time we aren't going to mess with the pansy eight-knot crosswinds you saw while working toward your certificate. This time you're looking for winds that approach the demonstrated crosswind component of the airplane you're flying. The goal is to get you comfortable in nasty little winds, say those with a 90-degree component exceeding 12 kt. More important than the size of the wind is its direction and gust spread. Look for the baddest wind in which your instructor is willing to teach.
Learning to handle a healthy gust spread when the wind is crossed is almost as important as handling the crosswind itself. The changeable characteristics of a gusty crosswind are what drive all pilots nuts, and it is usually because they haven't drawn a firm visual line that they want to fly. Once that line is drawn, they have to resolve to instantly correct for any deviations from it. In a gusty wind, flying something like a Cessna 172, that means thrashing away with the ailerons and rudder, doing whatever you have to do to keep the airplane from drifting while absolutely nailing the nose at a given attitude. It's going to stay at the proper attitude and it's going to remain pointed down the centerline. Period.
The gusts are also going to try to rock the wings, which will change the gust correction, but you aren't going to let the wings so much as wiggle. Then, if you do see the slightest drift, you're going to be there with aileron and rudder to correct it. It takes a firm hand and determination to hold that line, and it's surprising how difficult it is to develop that skill on your own. An instructor is a huge help.
If you're out there alone, chances are that the airplane will start moving on some axis and you won't see the movement until the airplane has already moved a few feet. Once the airplane has started moving, it's hard to stop. However, an instructor on board can point out the instant the airplane starts moving and, in so doing, help you to sharpen your visual acuity until you see the movement as quickly as he does. The sooner you correct for it, the easier it is to control the wind.
If you're a new pilot, don't try to tackle winds like this on your own. Having an instructor on board not only is your best insurance, but will shorten the learning process considerably.
Do not, repeat do not, go out for one hour, find that you have mastered the crosswind basics, and then skip on to another subject. Gusty crosswinds top the list of all the tricks in the pilot's that need practice - and lots of it. Invest three hours in going 'round and 'round on bouncy days at a variety of airports. Of all the time invested in post-graduate training, this will pay you back the most dividends during your aviation career.
Another point is becoming comfortable with shorter-than-normal runways. You needn't become comfortable landing on a 1,200-foot postage stamp, but it is important that you be able to put the airplane where you want it - which is to say, get it down in the first 500 to 700 feet after the numbers. If you can do that, you already know how to land on a 1,500-foot runway, because most airplanes that you're likely to be flying can stop on the balance. Actually, in normal practice, it's unlikely that you're ever going to see a runway shorter than 1,800 to 2,000 feet. So, assuming that you can put it down in the first 500 to 700 feet, total runway length becomes a moot point. The training for this should consist of at least two intense flights of about 45 minutes each. And just for the record, 2,000 feet isn't short. It just looks that way to someone used to 3,500 feet or more. For most airplanes, it's plenty.
When you outline your program to your instructor, he or she is undoubtedly going to look at the short-field recommendation and say, "No problem. The first turnoff here is at 2,000 feet; we just have to make that." Wrong. That's not what this training is about. We're after real-life scenarios so that you've actually experienced these conditions when you encounter them on your own. Landing on the first part of a long runway is not the same as landing on the same scrap of pavement when that's all there is. Even if every landing you've ever made on your home runway has culminated with a turnoff at the 2,000-foot mark, there is something different about turning final to a runway that really is only 2,000 feet long. Suddenly, the imaginary trees at the end are made of real Douglas fir. There is no substitute for the real thing when it comes to developing accuracy in touchdowns and short-field work.
Depending on how short you want to get, you may find that your instructor isn't all that confident either. If that's the case, find one who is happy with 2,000 feet. Remember, however, that the goal isn't to be able to land on a postage stamp. The goal is to be able to consistently put the airplane on a given spot in even the roughest weather.
You may find that it's difficult to find a runway that fits the bill. In certain parts of the country, 2,000-foot strips abound, while in others they don't exist except in some rich guy's backyard. If you have to call the rich guy and get permission to use his strip, then do it.
You're going to work this strip on at least two different occasions. The first time it will be on a relatively calm day so that you can develop your short-field and spot landing techniques in a real-world situation with few distractions. The second time, however, you're going to pick a day when your favorite nasty crosswind is blowing. You'll find that trying to hit the mark, which was easy before, becomes a game in which you are constantly correcting and fighting to maintain the proper glideslope. You might consider a third session just to make certain that you have it wired.
And then there's the old weather bugaboo. You stand in the living room and look out at the sky. Boy, those clouds look low. Wonder how the visibility really is. Flight service said it was five miles. Wow, that's really bad! Nah, I'll just watch Gilligan again.
The concept of what constitutes flyable weather is interesting because it is part concrete definition mandated by the regulations and part personal limitation. The subjective definition varies wildly depending on where the pilot got his certificate. Someone who did all of his student work in New Jersey is intimately familiar with less-than-perfect flying conditions. Fifteen hundred feet and five miles is nearly ideal to him. I fought that kind of weather for more than 22 years, then moved to Arizona. After nearly a decade, I'm still suffering from meteorological culture shock. Out here, when we get a solid overcast at 3,000 feet, our students are hiding under their beds, convinced that the gods have stolen the sun. If we get a 2,500-foot overcast, which is usually coupled with 50-mile visibility - less than half of normal - there won't be a little airplane in the air. The result is that our students have very little experience in deciphering weather conditions and flying in them. So they are terrified of anything resembling a cloud. Students in other parts of the country may or may not have been brought up looking at local weather and deciding what's flyable and what's not. Regardless of where you received your training, however, part of the 10-hour graduate course should be aimed at giving you an up-close-and-personal weather experience.
Get your instructor to take you out on days when the weather is barely above minimums so that you'll know what marginal VFR actually looks like. Then have him start working you as if you were under the hood on instruments. In fact, if the instructor can work it out, file an IFR clearance and have the air traffic controllers let you aim right at the clouds. Then, as visibility goes down as you start into them, execute a 180-degree turn on instruments. Do not let the instructor talk you into doing it without a clearance, or a jet might drop out of the clouds and ruin your day.
Tell your instructor that you want to see weather that is capable of luring you into situations you can't handle. Try to find weather that's working its way toward the ground. The goal here is for you to get a reality check on what the bad stuff looks like so that you'll know to make that 180-degree turn early - before you have to do it on the gauges. Don't confuse this type of training with an attempt to make you comfortable with bad weather. Hopefully, you'll come out of this with a better understanding of when it really is a good time to catch up on your reruns.
There's one last area that should be mandatory in your 10-hour course, and that's some flying with the airplane at maximum gross weight. Since you probably never flew the airplane fully loaded, it's a good idea to get some real-life experience so that it won't surprise you on your first cross-country.
There are lots of other items you could work into your graduate course, such as practicing engine-out situations, doing more night work, or getting spin training. Design the course the way you want to. The goal is to eliminate the gaps in your training that may be keeping you from flying or from flying as safely as you should be. Ten hours of instruction isn't really all that expensive and, in the long run, it'll be some of the best money you'll ever spend.
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