How a pilot conquered fear
I would noticeably shake at the thought of going away from home, and find excuses not to get in the airplane at all. I thought there was no way I could conquer this. As I returned home wondering what I should do, something inside me kept pulling me on. There had to be something I could do to conquer these fears, but I had to find it fast.
The first hours were achieved with the help of a retired flight instructor in Panama City, Florida. The hours and different perspective did help, but it wasn't enough. So after a few e-mails to another friend and fellow pilot, I decided to try a different approach.
Many pilots say that to crack cross-country fears, you have to fly a lot. So we rented a Cessna 172 and flew long circles around northern Florida and southern Alabama. I learned many things on those flights, such as never forget to close your flight plan, always tie down your airplane in the event of unanticipated storms, and know the buttons on your radio panel (the copilot likes to push them without you noticing).
In this way I accumulated all but 17 hours of the required cross-country pilot-in-command time. I appreciated every ounce of help I had received from my pilot friends, but I just couldn't do it on my own. I was scared to death of getting lost. Matching terrain to sectional charts was confusing; I told every pilot who tried to help: "Everything on the ground looks the same; what do I do?" I received the same answer, "You'll get it--you just have to fly more." I had done that, but something wasn't clicking. I felt so frustrated.
During a visit to Illinois in mid-July my miracle began to take shape. I was put in an unfamiliar environment with pilots who had a curiously new-to-me perspective of what a cross-country was, considering there were few cities or checkpoints to look at. The first few flights in a 172 out of Macomb, Illinois, to places such as Ottumwa and Burlington, Iowa, were meant to be fun and get me to relax. These trips usually consisted of short but still legal cross-countries to help me start to point out anything that might be familiar on the chart. My objective was to learn to navigate strictly by pilotage, relying on VORs only when I had to.
There were many times I looked at the ground and couldn't figure out where I was. How do I know which city is which? They're right beside each other! How do I know I'm not five or even 10 miles off course? The wind could push me; maybe we had a crosswind, or what if I forgot to reset my heading indicator? OK, what was my backup? VOR, that's it--tune in the VOR. I heard my copilot chanting, "Look around you on the ground and put the pieces together." Unfortunately I ignored him to some degree as I tried to decrease my stress levels. That VOR saved me this time, but I was no further than I had been before the flight. I still felt lost--I just wasn't getting it.
At about the day I just felt like giving up, I was asked to plan a 250-mile trip from Burlington, Illinois, to Springfield, Missouri. Another pilot would accompany me, but his job was just to ride along; I still had to find the airport! I began to look at the charts wondering how many X's I would need to put on the map as checkpoints; I went through so many sides of a chart I gave up. That was the best decision I've made in flight planning. By doing this, I began to understand sectionals.
The next morning, we were to fly parallel to the Mississippi River, down to the Hallsville VOR, then follow a radial south to Springfield. VORs were to be my backup. I had no need to draw lines for half of the trip since they already appeared on the chart radials. We took off and quickly found the Mississippi, but who could miss that?
Afterward I began to notice something. The landscape before me was a blank--nothing jumped out at me. Miles and miles of corn; how was I to match this to the printed aerial atlas before me? It all looked the same! Miles drifted past as I assumed I was going in the right direction according to the VOR, but endless cornfields spotted with tiny towns had no meaning to me. My copilot said, "Remember, although you may draw a line on your chart, no pilot can follow it to perfection. It is a constant correction of climbs, descents, and turns. The idea of a line is a guidance to follow, not a rule." For some reason, I felt a little more at ease realizing I wasn't out for perfection.
We found Springfield and enjoyed an excellent lunch at a nice restaurant inside the main terminal. As we jumped back in the airplane, I looked over our return route assuming I'd be relying on my crutch of VORs. We took off and headed home.
I do remember what clicked that day. It was the moment I unconsciously began to pay attention to details. I kept thinking of what my copilot had said about putting the pieces together. He told me, "It's like a puzzle; the idea is to put all the pieces together to make a big picture." I didn't understand him until we came upon Mark Twain Lake around Monroe City. I looked at the line on my chart and then at the ground. Wait, look how that piece of the lake bends more to the north and the other one to the west. We're supposed to be on the tip of this one.
A road came up next, which I assumed was a highway leading to some cities down the road--but which ones? They all looked the same. Wait a minute. That city is on the south side of this road, and there is another one down the way but which one is which? Well, there is a railroad track that runs through this one and goes around the other one. That tiny round circle on my chart must be Runnewell, so that means there is a big city to the east. There it is! But how do I know it's the right one? What is that to the south of it, that's a runway! Monroe City has a runway like that, and according to what I'm seeing it's on the south side too, with a railroad going between them. There's the railroad on my map! I know where I am!
For the first time in my flying career, I could find the meaning to the lines and dots on my chart. It did create a picture puzzle, just as my copilot had said, and that was how pilots navigate by pilotage! My copilot didn't have to say anything to me the rest of the way home.
My spirits ran high the week that I returned home to Florida. I found the courage in myself to do what I couldn't have done two weeks ago. I rented a 172 and flew a cross-country to Alabama. I was so proud of myself when I was able to find the airport and return home using just the sectional. Even the hollow circles and tiny lakes made sense, because each one created its own picture. I was finally navigating like a true pilot.
That flight carried me to my 50-hour college goal, and I flew my first solo cross-country in two years. A friend of mine photographed my landing, and I framed the photo. I look at it every chance I get, and remind myself that I can conquer my biggest fears. I still have much to learn, but I don't think I've been happier in a long time.
If I were to give advice to fellow pilots and students, it would be that if you're afraid of something, don't dwell on it as I did for a year or more. Grab a friend or flight instructor and go work on the problem; it will save your confidence and abilities in the end.
By Tristan VanNocker
"Learning Experiences" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for students and pilots to learn from the experiences of others. It is intended to provoke thought and discussion, acknowledging that actions taken by the authors were not necessarily the best choices under the circumstances. We encourage you to discuss any questions you have about a particular scenario with your flight instructor.
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