The most important lesson that a pilot can learn is probably one of the simplest: If something doesn't feel right, don't do it.
As a student pilot, much of your flying is tightly controlled by the limitations set by your flight instructor--for example, maximum crosswind components and minimum ceilings for solo flight. Even then you may find your personal comfort level pushed to the limit.
Imagine that you are halfway through a solo cross-country flight, and you're watching the weather deteriorate. Maybe it is a localized phenomenon, and you know that if you can get just a little bit farther, you're going to be in clear VFR for the remainder of the flight. Do you press on today in the hopes of finishing your training, and remaining on schedule to take your checkride before leaving the country for a month-long vacation?
I once had a student in this predicament. He was on his final solo cross-country, and it started to snow in Virginia several hours ahead of the forecasted time. He was less than 50 miles from clear skies. He wanted to get the trip finished that day so that he could take his checkride the following week, before a long-planned vacation to his European homeland. He could have pressed on, but he was at the limits of his comfort, and he chose to land. We sent another airplane and two pilots to retrieve him. Fortunately, despite the setback, he still was able to finish on time, and all was well.
Such a situation can easily trap a pilot, and it can be caused by anything from changing weather to broken equipment to illness.
Another pilot I know was on a weekend trip in the Cessna 172 in which he was a partner, and the airplane sustained some damage to the wing tip when it hit a fuel truck. He was told that he could fly the airplane home for repairs, or leave it and have it fixed. He was told the repair would be finished in a week. Leaving the airplane in Virginia was an inconvenience to both him and his partner, but he was uncomfortable flying with the damage, even though it was relatively minor.
It turns out that it was over a month before the airplane came home to Maryland, but even then, he was adamant that if given the choice he would have left it in Virginia again.
As an airline captain, I've had to make a diversion or two myself that inconvenienced a lot of people. In 2004, as Hurricane Jeanne was approaching Atlanta, Georgia, the winds began to pick up considerably--reaching sustained speeds of 25 to 30 knots with gusts approaching 40 kt. While not a direct crosswind, it was close to one--at a 60- or 70-degree angle to the runway. Aircraft were taking off and landing, but it was a challenging environment.
We were vectored onto the final approach course, and as we descended, the turbulence got worse and worse. Neither I nor my first officer were very comfortable with the approach, but since others were landing, we agreed to give it a try--with the understanding that if the airplane was too difficult to control after turning off the autopilot, we'd divert to Chattanooga, Tennessee.
Sure enough, the winds picked up just a bit, the ride worsened, and when we broke out of the cloud cover, it was raining sideways. When I turned off the autopilot, we were unable to keep the airplane aligned with the centerline of the runway. We executed a missed approach and headed to Chattanooga. As it so often happens in the airlines, we were the first in a chain. When we got to the gate, we counted 14 diversions from Atlanta touching down behind us. Undoubtedly there were more going to other airports, but Chattanooga's ramp was full.
After landing, I called our dispatcher, and much to my surprise, he wanted us to try again to get into Atlanta. I refused, politely stating that, having just been there, I knew that the weather was worse than it appeared, and I was exercising my authority as pilot in command--in my opinion, trying again wasn't safe. I'd flown near three of the four hurricanes that ravaged the Southeast in 2004, and this one was packing the worst punch I'd experienced. It was beyond my comfort level to try again.
A few minutes later, air traffic control issued a ground stop for aircraft heading to Atlanta, accepting only aircraft whose crosswind capabilities exceeded ours. Everybody else had to wait on the ground, wherever they were, until conditions improved.
It doesn't make any difference what kind of flight or what type of aircraft you are operating. If you are in a position where you feel that the risks outweigh the rewards, it's time to stop and re-evaluate your plan. In flight, check your fuel status first, and decide on a course of action that you're comfortable you can execute safely. Don't let anyone or anything push you outside your comfort zone, because you will be more likely to make a rash decision or overlook something that you would not normally miss. Stress can be that powerful.
This is not to be confused with consciously expanding your limits. As you fly more and gain additional experience, you need to grow out of your protective student-pilot cocoon. If the strongest crosswind you have faced is 10 or 12 kt and the winds are blowing at 15 kt, it's probably pretty safe for you to try the landing at 15 kt (respecting all aircraft limitations). That isn't the same jump as going from 15 to 25 kt.
Small, incremental steps in your experience levels will do your confidence wonders. But if you are crossing the line from getting better to being overly concerned or even scared, then it's time to step back, review your options, and go with Plan B.
Chip Wright has been flying since 1990, has been a CFI since 1994, and is now an airline transport pilot and a Canadair Regional Jet captain for Comair. His total flight time is 8,000 hours.
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Links to additional resources about the topics discussed in this article are available at AOPA Flight Training Online.
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