Aging gracefully in aviation
Flying is not among those activities with an image that is backlit by the aura of youth. The vitality that is so important in most sports and recreational activities is not as much of an issue in flying. One of the most physically demanding of aviation activities is airshow and competition aerobatics. But take a look at the country's top aerobatic pilots; most are no different from you and me in terms of their outward physical condition and age. The fact is, the type of flying that most favors youthful energy, stamina, and strength is military air combat, and how many of us do that?
In aviation, youth is associated with enthusiasm, but also inexperience. The clich� about feeling more comfortable with a graying grizzled veteran as a flight instructor or chief pilot speaks to the emphasis on experience and maturity in the cockpit.
Still, we need and have young pilots. The military and the airlines long ago figured out that the way to compensate for young pilots' lack of experience is to provide them with intensive, highly focused training. That's how the military can put twenty-somethings with a few hundred hours in the cockpits of the most advanced fighters, and it's how the airlines routinely award first-officer bars to young, comparatively inexperienced pilots. Balance is provided by pairing less-experienced crewmembers with veteran captains.
Experience and maturity in the cockpit count for a lot when flying in light, single-pilot general aviation aircraft. The flying is far less structured than the military, and far less regulated than the airlines. We must meet FAA minimum standards for training and experience, but beyond that we pretty much decide for ourselves what we will and will not do in the airplane. That's where experience and the qualities it nurtures--maturity and judgment--count.
I got my private pilot certificate at age 17--a long time ago--and for the next 16 years flew as a recreational VFR pilot. Then I began flying for business, and flying more often. Instrument and multiengine ratings followed. So, as I aged, I expanded the type of flying I was doing--where I flew, what I flew, and the conditions in which I flew. Each flight added to my knowledge, insights, experience, and confidence.
Personally, I welcome the changes that the years bring to my flying. Well, most of the changes; I'm not exactly fond of presbyopia and having to wear reading glasses in order to focus on things at close range in the cockpit, especially at night.
But that is not much of a price to pay for the benefits that accrue to a maturing aviator. The years, formal study, and hours spent in the left seat are the conduits for learning. Periodic ground school and reading build the knowledge base. Lots of flying in different airplanes, at all times of day and night, over terrain both familiar and new--and through all kinds of weather--are the ingredients that constitute experience. Like folding proofed yeast in with flour to make a satisfying loaf of bread, blending knowledge and experience can yield a pilot with a nicely shaped and textured set of flying skills.
The difference that maturity makes in everyday flying may not be obvious until you stand back and think about it. I was bringing my logbook up to date recently when I got sidetracked by scanning old entries. I was struck by the contrast between two trips I had logged. One was a long midsummer journey from Florida to Maryland flown in a Grumman AA-5 Traveler. The other one occurred one winter when I flew my Cessna 172 from western New York to Kansas City.
What I remember most vividly from the first trip was a portion flown at night. The weather briefing at my South Carolina fuel stop mentioned thunderstorm activity to the east and west of my route, but the way I heard it a clear path lay between. I took off, and in no time the cockpit of the Traveler was awash in the staccato glare of lightning. An informative and helpful controller noted that the route ahead was rapidly becoming blocked with developing thunderstorms, and other pilots were diverting to Charlotte. He tactfully recommended that I do likewise. I fell in behind a Beech 18, whose pilot had not required any cajoling from ATC to call it quits for the night.
The weather for my flight in the 172 was not nearly so intimidating. Just very cold, with much more wind than forecast. I took off in late afternoon and had only made Ohio before I began to think about refueling. The tanks were nowhere near empty; but, at a groundspeed of 65 to 70 knots, I was concerned that if I continued on I might have trouble finding an airport with an FBO still open after dark, especially given the sub-zero temperatures.
Thinking through the different scenarios led me to decide on a conservative fuel stop in Akron. The decision was partly a product of experience: knowing the fuel consumption characteristics of the airplane, reading the weather, and anticipating the reluctance of an FBO employee to hang around a small airport in the unlikely event that some poor soul is out flying and in need of fuel on such an inhospitable night.
Armed with brimming fuel tanks and a warm cup of coffee, I pressed on. The winds abated a little, and I made Indianapolis. I was halfway home, but that was it for me for the night. In my youth I might have topped off again and taken off. No longer. It hurt to spend a hundred bucks for a place to lay my head for a few hours, but I had no second thoughts. I knew it was the right thing, the mature thing, to do. The next morning I finished the trip in clear, calm weather and a good frame of mind.
The thought of reaching maturity as a pilot is a pleasant, positive one because it suggests the attainment of a certain level of experience, wisdom, and judgment. The good news is that the concept of maturity, at least in terms of age, also is becoming more acceptable in society at large. That's because it's happening to the baby boomers, and baby boomers still set the pace in this country. I used to be one myself, until I stopped aging.
Mark Twombly is a writer and editor who has been flying since 1968. He is a commercial pilot with instrument and multiengine ratings and co-owner of a Piper Aztec.
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