Most instrument flight instructors sign off even their best students with concern; no matter how thorough the training program, the CFI can only give each student a sample of what waits ahead in the clouds. Few students get the opportunity to dodge both ice and thunderstorms during the training period. Even the required 250-mile cross-country is far short of the fatiguing flying that the commuter pilot, the cargo dog, or the vacationing private pilot often experiences.
Instructors trust that the newly rated instrument pilot will ease into the system according to ability and confidence. The idea of flying IFR clearances in visual meteorological conditions, flying from VMC through IFR to VFR, then adding more IFR weather at both ends of the trip is a good strategy. Another is to fly with experienced instrument pilots whenever possible.
Sometimes instrument instructors believe that a really long cross-country trip, one requiring two days or more and a distance of more than a thousand miles, is a terrific idea. Short of making such a flight a requirement, it's a great option to finish up the rating. For the pilot who has done little weather flying after getting the instrument ticket, it's an opportunity to expand the envelope of experience.
Long IFR trips involve more planning and response skills than are called for during traditional training. The route may cross several dynamic weather systems. Controllers' attitudes and procedures can become a problem in a new environment. After a long day of flying in the clouds, then darkness, all of these factors conspire to create fatigue, fear, and confusion; and for training purposes, this is a good thing.
Then there are all the nonflying details that the student pilot rarely considers: How much cash and which credit cards should I carry? After the ILS into Nowhere, Nebraska, at 10:20 p.m., will we be able to get fuel for the last leg of the day? Do we have charts and approach plates for areas just outside our route of flight in case we get vectored off course? What if the motels are full? Will we be able to get a cab in the morning?
An extended trip always presents more problems, surprises, and stress. Learning to cope with these factors is the goal of the long IFR training flight. A case in point is the tale of Andy Thul's 3,000-mile cross-country.
Andy, 18, had been my student for his private license. His flying skills were good, and he had more than 100 hours of flying time when our work on his instrument rating bogged down. Andy was, frankly, getting bored with flying in circles around our home airport at Bemidji, Minnesota. He had studied for the written, but much of the material was still irrelevant to his experience.
At my suggestion, Andy's parents jumped at the chance to send him on a long trip. It would rekindle his enthusiasm, test and sharpen his natural ability, and complete the requirements for the rating. And it didn't hurt matters that we would leave the icebox of the nation, home of ten thousand frozen lakes, for the aqua waters and clattering palms of the Florida Keys.
But this was a working vacation for Andy. We ordered IFR and VFR en route charts for the route, along with approach plates and airport/facility directories. We planned the flight, then flew the plan.
We scheduled a 7 a.m. departure on the Saturday prior to Thanksgiving. Our route would include stops at La Crosse, Wisconsin; Peoria, Illinois; and Bowling Green, Kentucky, on the first day. But our late-night weather check on Friday showed a big low-pressure system west of our course. There was a lot of snow in our area during the night, and an on-time departure would mean low ceilings, icing, and headwinds on the east side of the low. But by noon, everything would be better. And so we waited. Our reward was a nice mix of IMC and VMC flight, little icing, and a tailwind for most of the day.
A big factor in flight planning is the airplane. My Cessna Skyhawk, N61713, has two nav/coms, a glideslope, and an ADF, but no autopilot, weather detection, or GPS. In my book, the best backup navigation system for students is situational awareness using VFR charts, checkpoints, and a wristwatch. The goal of flying simple, small airplanes IFR is to fly to better weather. Hand-flying a slow airplane for hours at a time in IMC is neither fun nor wise, and doing it with very low ceilings and visibilities, where an engine or electrical failure could be deadly, is even less wise.
We departed our home airport of Nary National VFR at noon into cold, hazy sunshine. We banked left, pointed the nose toward Florida, and picked up our clearance to La Crosse. The last half-hour of the leg was flown in snowy clouds, and we were vectored for an ILS approach to Runway 18. We picked up light rime on the way down and again on the departure after a top-off and some coffee, but we were on top at 7,000 feet and the ice disappeared.
On the leg to Peoria, we played "What if" and "Where are we now?" Andy used cross-radials and the VFR charts to show me where we were. We tuned in flight watch and the ATIS, ASOS, and AWOS frequencies along our route. We made plans for an engine failure and for lost communications. We selected checkpoints and tried to calculate the exact crossing times. Andy wore the hood for much of this work, but the cloud line below us was beautiful, and some of the time I let him just fly along and enjoy the view.
I reminded Andy to scan all the gauges.
"Yeah."
"So, how are they?"
"OK."
"Are you sure?"
"Hmmm." Andy put his finger on the oil temperature gauge. The needle was at the top of the green.
We decided that the higher oil temperature was due to the oil-cooler cover plates that were appropriate in the cold temperatures at home but not here in the warmer air over Illinois.
We were vectored for an ILS into Peoria. The conditions were 400-foot ceiling and 2 miles' visibility, but the ceiling was ragged and Andy started looking for the airport visually as soon as he started seeing the ground. We drifted off the localizer, then briefly leveled off above the glideslope before correcting. The lesson: Stay on the instruments until you have the runway environment in sight and can descend to a normal landing.
We removed the oil-cooler plates, ate lunch, topped the tanks, and climbed through the scud. Within minutes we were on top again. The oil temperature was back to normal, the ride was smooth, the controllers' accents out of Memphis Center were enjoyably Southern, and the sun sunk into the pillowy clouds.
When Center cleared us for a VOR approach into Bowling Green, I told Andy I was just going to sit back and relax. Descending into the clouds, it quickly became night. There were now turns to make, timing to be accomplished, radio work, a radial to intercept, and an airplane to fly. The trouble was, with the bumps, the dim red overhead lighting, and the other tasks at hand, Andy was having a very hard time reading the NOS plate. I let Andy struggle with the descent rate and heading, and then took the plate and my flashlight and directed the rest of the approach.
Later, after seven and one-half hours of flight time and 1.4 hours of actual instrument conditions, we sat down to giant cheeseburgers and a discussion about cockpit resource management.
We took off the next morning into foggy skies and a 500-foot ceiling. Within minutes we were in broken cumulus, then just haze, and Andy went under the hood until completing the NDB approach at Athens, Georgia. The wind and the intercept angle made finding the outbound bearing for the procedure turn difficult. We've all had this problem, and it was the lesson topic while we fueled and drank our morning coffee.
Except for a session of partial panel work, Andy went hoodless for most of the leg to Fernandina Beach, Florida. It was still hazy and there were scattered clouds about, but everything below was green and there was the Atlantic Ocean to look for. Jacksonville Approach vectored us for a visual, but the sun was in our eyes and there was a lot of VFR traffic on the CTAF. We were nervous about the situation until we spotted the runways. Mixed VFR and IFR traffic at uncontrolled fields in marginal VFR is a dicey situation. When in doubt, shoot a full approach and monitor the CTAF while making timely position reports.
We were picked up by friends at Fernandina Beach—former Minnesotans—and given the royal tour of beautiful Amelia Island. The next morning, after a walk in the surf, we headed down the coast to Titusville.
Each of the next three days consisted of a morning flight, followed by sun and fun. At Titusville, we picked up a clearance to do a low pass over the Kennedy Space Center, then flew IFR to Fort Lauderdale Executive. We were vectored inland and given some oddball altitudes, routine local procedures we guessed, then cleared for the ILS to Runway 8. The tower controller was cranky about our 80-kt groundspeed on final, but there was quite a headwind, and an hour later, diving into the surf at Lauderdale-by-the-Sea, we'd forgotten his comments.
The next day's leg was an IFR trip across the state to Punta Gorda, followed by a VFR flight south and east to Marathon and on to Key West. This was Andy's reward for a job well done and we spent the whole next day eating the seafood, snorkeling the reef, and soaking in the sun and the sights. It was, in fact, Thanksgiving, and we had a rather nontraditional dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe.
We departed Key West on Friday morning on a composite VFR/IFR flight plan. The VFR portion, to Marathon then north to the coast, kept our overwater time to a minimum. Then it was IFR to Lakeland through scattered clouds. Andy's ILS there was perfect, as were his next two approaches, the ILS at Columbus, Georgia, and the VOR at Bowling Green.
The next day's flight took us to Champaign, Illinois, and no farther. The weather ahead was horrible; ceilings and visilibities were near and below minimums because of fog. Conditions were not expected to improve much during the day. Andy made the obvious no-go decision. It was time to find a motel and check the local movie listings.
By late morning of the following day Champaign was still 100 and one, but just ahead the weather was above minimums. We were a proficient two-man crew, the airplane had performed flawlessly, and it was daylight. We launched with confidence.
This was Andy's most challenging day of flying and a fitting graduation exercise. We were in IMC for an hour before breaking out on top. We picked up a trace of ice on the ILS into Dubuque, and a little more on the way out. Two altitude changes were required to avoid the ice on the route to St. Paul. Each time, going higher gave us visual conditions and temperatures above freezing; it was a great weather lesson.
The ILS into St. Paul was another icy one, so we decided to fly the last 160 nautical miles home VFR under the leaden overcast sky. Andy wore the hood for a final session of partial panel, then went visual while we reviewed the trip. Below, the trees were gray and leafless, the fields and lakes frozen and covered with snow.
Andy had become a truly proficient pilot. I told him he would have no trouble passing his checkride, that if and when he wanted to, he could really go places.
Shortly after this trip, Andy passed his instrument checkride. He is now working on his commercial certificate.
Marsh Muirhead, AOPA 1090000 , of Bemidji, Minnesota, is a CFI, dentist, and freelance writer. He has 2,700 flight hours and is the owner of a Cessna 172.
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