I got a thank you note the other day from someone I had mentored at the company I fly for. Kaitlyn had just passed her first year's probation and was pretty happy. Now since the mentor was only about six months ahead of the mentored, it was sort of like Stevie Wonder leading Ray Charles, but I'm told it's the thought that counts.
Kaitlyn's success started me thinking about the next major milestone in a pilot's career with a company — the upgrade to captain. I found myself wondering what the hardest thing would be, and after a while it became pretty obvious — every sentence about competence usually ends with the caveat "unless I miss something."
The majority of us have got the flying thing down. Sure, we all have our days where just walking upright is a challenge (OK, maybe that's just me). But, for the normal stuff, we're OK.
If I'm a private pilot who flies mostly on weekends in good weather, I've pretty much got that down.
If I'm an instrument pilot who flies light IFR with the occasional IMC approach, I've pretty much got that down.
If I'm a commercial pilot who flies hard IFR all the time in horrible weather in congested terminal areas, I've pretty much got that down.
If my airplane is held together by chicken wire, duct tape, and devout prayer, and every takeoff results in an emergency landing, I've pretty much got that down, too.
... Unless I miss something. If I miss something, even the easiest of tasks can become very hazardous. Getting out of the airplane is not that hard, unless I miss the part about landing first. Landing is not all that hard, unless I miss the touchdown zone or worse, the runway. Wearing a uniform is not all that hard, unless I miss the pants, shoes, belt, socks, hat, and jacket part. (Again, maybe that's just me.)
Did he miss something?
A few years ago Eric took a Baron on a maintenance check flight after a prolonged annual. The airplane had been sold, so this was also functioning as a predelivery shakedown flight of sorts. Eric had flown this Baron before, but it had been a while. So, as was his practice, he reread the airplane manual to make sure he would not miss something. He took a good half-hour to give the airplane a thorough preflight. One can never be too careful with an airplane coming out of maintenance, so Eric even fetched a mechanic to look at the tail and a few other things he had questions about. After he was satisfied that all was OK, he jumped in with another CFI and a mechanic and they were going flying.
Unfortunately, the only flying they did that day was through the fence at the other end of the runway. To say the airplane needed considerably more maintenance than an annual after going through the fence would be an understatement. Just prior to rotation Eric felt a loss of power, so he aborted the takeoff. Unfortunately for Eric, the runway at this particular airport was fairly short and he was unable to stop the airplane without the assistance of the boundary fence and a nearby street. There were no injuries other than to egos and reputations, but the airplane was toast.
There was no obvious cause of the accident (beyond departing the airport without actually being airborne), and the only unusual thing found after the accident was the rudder trim out of takeoff range. It seemed unbelievable to Eric that he could have missed the rudder being out of trim on his preflight — especially since he and a mechanic took half an hour to do the preflight, including a special look at the tail. Nothing ever proved that the rudder trim caused the accident. But since Eric couldn't be completely sure what happened to the airplane he will always wonder if he missed something.
Missing something does not always involve the melodramatic; sometimes it is just big entertainment. Early one bright Saturday morning Jordan preflighted and jumped in a Cessna 172 to ferry it somewhere for a friend. He had powered it up and was starting to taxi when he was abruptly pulled back and up, sort of like a dog who's reached the end of his chain. He had no idea what was going on, but figured he'd better find out before the stupidity police came to get him. Much to his chagrin, he had verified that the tail hook — and chain attached to it — worked very, very well.
Because he never hooked up the tail chain on his own airplane, he was not expecting it to be hooked up on this airplane. Not a big deal as it turned out, but again, injuries to ego and reputation, as nothing stupid done at an airport ever goes unnoticed. Unlike Eric, however, he didn't have to wonder — he knew he had missed something.
If you think you're missing something ... you probably are
Month after month we read in AOPA Pilot the "Never Again" stories and marvel at the situations pilots find themselves in while hoping that it never happens to us. We read accident reports in which the crew is asking questions about where they are or what's going on. They're definitely missing something — they're just not sure what yet. While we are reading we desperately want to reach into the story and tell them to pull up, pull out, stop, or whatever it is that needs to be done. Usually it's something pretty simple in the chain of events that needs to be changed to continue in a safe manner. And just like in a cheap horror flick, from the outside, you can see it coming from a mile away.
It doesn't take much
Kevin and Corrin were out one day doing multiple approaches amidst wildly unfriendly weather and terrain. At the end of one approach, which was ending in a miss, Kevin hit a button he didn't mean to hit. Not a big deal normally, but as this approach was offset from the runway, it had one unintended, indirect effect. It changed the airplane from following its prescribed missed approach flight path around the oncoming terrain to plowing straight through the terrain, complete with flight director guidance. They looked outside and saw the runway in a place they'd never seen it before — as one passenger succinctly put it, "The QuikMart is supposed to be on the left, not on the right." It took a few seconds for both to realize that they were in a place they didn't really expect or want to be — off the centerline. They turned the airplane, got back on the centerline, fixed the problem, and went on their merry way. They were more than a little embarrassed when the tower noted with glee, "Gee, I've never seen a missed approach over there before."
In this case, two very experienced pilots didn't really do anything wrong, caught the deviation after only a few seconds, and still almost had an unfortunate encounter with terrain. A few more seconds and it would have gone way beyond embarrassment — a great reminder of how quickly things can go south.
How not to miss something
If your little voice is arguing with you about something, or something just doesn't feel right, step back a moment from what you are doing and try to see what it might be. Our friend Eric tried to do that when he aborted the takeoff, but unfortunately the timing of his decision and the remaining runway were not in correct proportion. Kevin and Corrin did it by using their other references — sometimes it can be as simple as looking outside. Jordan did it, realized he was still tied to the ground, and untied the airplane — even though it could have been fun to sit there and pop wheelies in a Cessna 172 for a while.
If you are flying with a friend or have an autopilot, let them fly for a while to unload your brain and make finding the problem as easy as possible. Use checklists all the time, not just when you have the time. If you think you might have missed something, try running all the checklists again from the beginning up to your current phase of flight. Pause at each switch or instrument and see if it's where it should be. Look, really look, at your surroundings and check for something that might be out of place; don't just gloss over it. Develop mnemonics, such as CIGAR or GUMPS, to use at key stages of flight such as before takeoff and landing to give yourself a last-ditch check on the really embarrassing items.
When you find yourself getting distracted, remove the distraction. If it is a passenger, there is usually a door that will open in flight — you can always pick them up later. If you can't remove the distraction, go back to basics and make flying as easy as possible. If you have to climb and turn and you can't seem to do both at the same time, prioritize — do one first, then the other.
Don't miss something in you
Make sure you're physically ready for the flight. If you're tired or sick, factor that into your go/no-go decision, just as you would with the weather or a trip to the mall. We all push ourselves too hard and are sometimes reluctant to say "Uncle," whether it's for business or for pleasure. My chances of missing something go up exponentially when I'm tired — whether it's an O-dark-thirty departure, an overnight flight, or just the end of a long day. If you don't feel your pilot fitness matches the demands of the flight, bail out (unless you have a parachute, bail out before becoming airborne).
There have been many times when I have had to seriously question my ability and desire to continue after an abnormally long day or night (OK, fine — so there's no ability to question, but I still have desire). And I can honestly say there are flights that in retrospect I should not have taken. Yes, they turned out fine and everyone was happy, but it's sort of like the nine-lives concept. I don't know about you, but I'd like to save my nine lives for when I really need them. You know, like when your parent or your spouse asks you the "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" question. (For which the best answer is a quick, confident, "I love you," followed by an immediate exit before they have time to regroup.)
The microscope
As pilots, especially in the post-September 11 world, we are under a microscope. Each time we miss something of any consequence, it makes the newspapers and we spend the next several months getting asked about and then explaining it at family get-togethers. We also realize that everything we do will be reviewed in the minutest detail if we miss something and end up using up one of our nine lives in an aviation incident.
Flying is about having fun and enjoying what we're doing. Give yourself every opportunity to be successful every time. And if you start getting that nagging feeling and you don't know what you've missed — what you're in trouble for yet — back out and find out. Don't waste any of your nine lives; you never know when you might forget to say, "I love you" and need five or six of them.
Marc K. Henegar, AOPA 1073441, of Orange, California, is a pilot for Alaska Airlines.
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