We think of practice as an exercise unto itself: going to the airport specifically to practice takeoffs and landings, maneuvers, or instrument approaches. Usually it's done at home base or a nearby, familiar airport that is less busy or offers something that home field does not - a longer or shorter runway, a grass strip, obstacles, or an air traffic control tower or no tower.
This is controlled practice. When practicing we aren't interested in the transportation aspects of flying someplace for business or personal reasons. We don't want the distracting workload inherent in a cross-country flight - planning the route, checking destination weather and notams, navigating, communicating, monitoring the airplane, and planning the descent and arrival.
The goal of controlled practice is simply to concentrate on honing a specific skill or set of skills, and the best way to do that is to eliminate all the variables, all the unknowns, by sticking to familiar territory. Practicing at home base is like reaching for a favorite pair of shoes. It's what we're used to - what we're most comfortable wearing. If we're familiar with the layout of the airport, the procedures, the habits of the local pilots, and where we're most likely to encounter a little turbulence on final approach, we'll be at ease. We don't have to think twice about our surroundings, so we can do all of our thinking about what we're practicing.
My home field has a primary runway and a crosswind runway, and it is served by a part-time control tower. With the prevailing wind from the northeast, Runway 5 usually is the active. If I go to the airport to practice touch and goes on a fair-weather day, I can expect to use Runway 5. I know the ATIS frequency, the voices of the controllers, and the fact that the same controller may be handling ground and tower frequencies.
I know the taxi route to the runway and the pattern procedures. If it's a busy day, I know there's a good chance that the tower controller will ask me to extend my downwind; he may even call my base turn. I know where the runway exits are located, and on a full-stop landing I know how to fly the final approach to make the first turnoff. If I miss it, I have to roll out through the intersection with the crosswind runway before reaching the next runway exit.
Because I'm so familiar with the procedures at my home field, I don't have to think about them when I'm practicing. I can concentrate almost exclusively on becoming smoother at anticipating and countering the pitch change that occurs when I extend the flaps; configuring the power and trim so that aircraft attitude, airspeed, and glide path are right on the money; or whatever skill I am attempting to master that day. Once the skill is mastered, then, as long as I stay proficient I should be able to execute that skill at the highest level whenever I fly, or so the theory goes. That's why we practice, right?
The theory looks ironclad when I write it, but it doesn't always work out that way. See if this has happened to you, too:
One fine day I completed a superlative practice session at home base during which I not only flawlessly executed every procedure by the book, but it looked like I wrote the manual. Not long afterward I departed on a cross-country flight for business purposes. The destination was a large, busy airport in a sprawling metropolitan area. I had to traverse an entangling web of controlled-access airspace involving a variety of air traffic control facilities before being handed off to the tower at my destination. Because of high-speed jet traffic inbound, I was instructed to fly a circuitous route to a downwind. Scattered clouds at my altitude, low-level turbulence, and lots of other airplanes in the same general airspace added to the hassle factor.
By the time I was cleared to land, my attention had been diverted to things other than flying masterfully. My approach was high, the flare was low, and the touchdown was...well, the best that can be said is that I landed.
"What happened to the hot stick who had total command of this airplane the other day?" I scolded myself on the taxi in to the ramp. The answer: That was practice, this is real, and the two don't always match up.
One reason why the higher skill level we achieve in practice doesn't always flow through to real, everyday flying is because we practice under controlled conditions, where all we have to think about is what we are practicing. Real life is different, especially if we're flying to unfamiliar territory. Instead of concentrating almost exclusively on technique, we have to attend to several tasks including navigating new-to-you airspace, managing sometimes-complex communications, and anticipating and executing local arrival procedures.
That leads to a suggestion: Next time you plan a practice session, spend the first part of your time at home base tuning up your skills, then travel to another airport - one you haven't been to previously - and repeat your drills there. The mission remains the same - to practice certain skills and procedures - but the unfamiliarity adds a level of difficulty that more closely approximates everyday flying. Unlike everyday flying, you'll be in a "practice" state of mind, meaning that you'll be paying particular attention to your technique, analyzing mistakes, and making adjustments.
The hoped-for result of filing this flight plan is achieving a level of proficiency that will indeed carry through to the "real" flights that follow.
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