Continuing Ed

Getting reacquainted with the Cessna 172

From my perspective the checkout was going well. I was the checkee, Ed Fink the checker, and the thing being checked was my ability to pilot the club's Cessna 172. I hadn't flown it or any 172 in several years because I had my own airplane. For the next few months, however, it would be in my partner's possession halfway across the country. I needed an airplane to fly, and the club's 172 was the logical choice. But first, the club's policy, and mine, dictated a checkout with an instructor familiar in make and model. Ed, an active club instructor, was the man.

We began with a normal takeoff and climb to the practice area. Ed then had me don a view-limiting device to perform various maneuvers "under the hood." Lots of pilots use frosted plastic safety glasses as a convenient tool to simulate flying in the clouds and practice flying solely by references to instruments. No frosted glasses from Ed, however. The thing that he handed me truly was a hood.

It had a stretchy strap that slipped over my head and a low hood that fit tight against my forehead and shrouded my vision like a baseball cap with a grossly oversized bill. I put it on, focused my concentration on the dials at the end of the tunnel, and felt myself hunch over in the seat. I'll take flying in real clouds every time over faking instrument meteorological conditions (IMC) by wearing a claustrophobic hood. But when you're being checked out in severe clear weather, you gotta do what you gotta do.

After a series of steep turns, climbs, turns to a heading, slow flight, and stalls, I doffed the hood, wiped my sweaty brow, and returned to full-vision VFR status. Ed served up a heading that would deliver us to a nearby airport, and the next task on the checkout checklist was landings-normal, short-field, no-flap, and precision (spot) landings.

This was the fun part. I used to own a 172, and I was thoroughly enjoying the reunion, especially the takeoffs and landings. The 172 has a sweet spot for both. Applying some back pressure as the airplane accelerates in the takeoff roll puts the wing at the perfect angle of attack to lift the nosewheel a few seconds before the mains imperceptibly roll off, as if it were a mini-airliner. When landing, nailing the speed, attitude, and flare on final approach almost guarantees that the softly sprung main gear will greet the runway with a squeaky, affectionate buss.

Ed made the most of our time in the pattern by discussing related issues, including collision avoidance. The potential for colliding with another aircraft is highest in the sometimes densely packed environment of a nontowered airport during the day. The prevention program is based on hyper-vigilance, along with following a couple of simple rules.

First, rely primarily on your eyes, rather than the communications radio, to identify the presence and position of other aircraft in the immediate area. Nonradio-equipped aircraft may be about, and pilots with radios may mistakenly report an incorrect position or have the transceiver tuned to the wrong unicom frequency.

Second, be aware of the possibility that you could descend onto another aircraft while on final approach. Aircraft can be tough to spot in the busy background filling the lower half of the windshield, especially when concentration is fixed on configuring and controlling the airplane to maintain a stabilized approach.

During the touch-and-go work we logged some quality time dealing with traffic. On one circuit the radio crackled with the voice of a mosquito-control DC-3 pilot who reported that he would be taking off on the long crossing runway. Ed and I discussed the situation and agreed that there would be no conflict because we would be climbing well above the Gooney Bird when we crossed paths.

As I turned downwind a second mosquito-control DC-3 reported inbound to landing on the crossing runway. Again we assessed the situation, and again we agreed that no conflict would occur. At least the big DC-3s were easy to spot.

No so with several small aircraft that reported in on practice instrument approaches to the crossing runway. Their size, distance, and angle relative to our position in the pattern made finding and keeping track of them a challenge, but that's what effective collision avoidance is all about-constantly sweeping the nearby sky for bogies while also flying the airplane with precision.

After the last touch and go we set course for home base and the concluding task, a practice instrument approach. Ed flew while I once again created artificial IMC by putting on his hooded contraption. He negotiated with the area approach controller for a practice ILS approach, and when I was properly outfitted I reassumed navigation, communications, and hands-on control of the 172.

The controller threw a changeup by vectoring me toward the localizer final approach course (the extended runway centerline) and at the last minute informing me that, because we were following another aircraft on the approach, I should continue on my assigned vector and fly through the localizer. I did, and soon enough he issued a turn back toward the final approach course and cleared me for the approach. In this case having a clear mental picture of our position allowed me to handle the unexpected without a problem. It was a useful check-out exercise because good pilots, like good hitters, should anticipate and be able to handle changeups.

My self-administered pat on the back proved to be premature. The controller's changeup was followed by a curve ball in the guise of a crosswind on the approach. I compensated and crabbed, but the 172 is significantly slower than the light twin that I fly, and I wasn't prepared for the lethargic response to my corrections. The result was a squirmy, worm-like flight path on the approach.

I compounded the problem by fixating on the flight instruments to the exclusion of the navigation equipment. I had to ask Ed where the marker beacon lights were located on the panel, and he had to remind me to use the ADF indicator to positively note crossing the outer marker. I wanted to cite the unfamiliar and confining hood as a contributing factor to my fixation, but the real problem was that I didn't do a good job of flying the final approach course and I allowed myself to get distracted because of it.

In his post-landing critique, Ed recommended that I use conservative instrument approach minimums until completely comfortable in the 172 again. It was sound advice.

The 1.6 hours spent with Ed counted for much more than a perfunctory checkout. Flying with an instructor I had never flown with in an airplane I hadn't been in for several years meant venturing outside the comfort zone in which I reside flying my own airplane.

I had asked Ed for a good workout, and he had obliged with lots of air work and hood work, and good touch-and-go variety. The session opened my eyes to the subtleties of flying a slower, more basically equipped airplane. Learning to adapt to those nuances hones and enhances a pilot's overall skills. The problems I encountered on the approach-fixation and less-than-satisfactory heading control inside the outer marker-were frustrating, but ultimately instructive.

Ed said I was good to go in the 172, and so I went. The next day I used it to travel to a business appointment, shrinking what would have been a grinding six-hour round-trip drive into a pleasant flight of just over two hours. At the conclusion I had to admit that I've fallen in love all over again with the 172.

Mark Twombly is a writer and editor who has been flying for 35 years. He is a commercial and multiengine-rated pilot and co-owner of a Piper Twin Comanche.