State of mind, state of body
Troubling little signs of slightly diminished metal acuity kept cropping up. While setting up the cockpit before the flight, I listened to and copied the automatic terminal information service report, then forgot to adjust the altimeters to the current barometric setting. No big deal; we caught the error on the After Start checklist. We were going to do a ground power unit (GPU)-assisted start, which calls for the generator switches to be in the Off position until the engines are started and the GPU is disconnected. During the cockpit inspection I forgot to place the switches in the Off position. Again, no foul because we caught the error while running the Before Start checklist. These were small, insignificant mistakes, but they were nonetheless indicative of a mind that was behind the power curve.
Flying calls on both physical and mental faculties. I would argue that the ratio of the two is heavily weighted toward the physical in the simplest airplanes, and it swings over to the mental in the most complex. The taildragger pilot must have a "seat of the pants" feel for what the airplane is doing, and good stick-and-rudder coordination to fly it well. By contrast, a business jet pilot is primarily engaged in a mental activity. The airplane is flown by the numbers, and mostly on autopilot. The real challenge is staying ahead of the fast-moving machine, using all of its avionics and systems capabilities to full advantage--and communicating with air traffic controllers, flying in controlled-access airspace, using the airways, and following the procedures on published instrument approaches. That's a job for the head.
That said, no matter the category or class of aircraft, it takes all three--the feet, hands, and head--to fly safely and well. It follows that if any of those body parts are not up to the challenge on any particular day, cockpit performance suffers.
In some ways it's easier to deal with a physical ailment than a mental issue in terms of the effect on piloting performance. A physical problem typically forces a go/no-go decision from the pilot. If I have an upset stomach (the dozen oysters I downed at the raw bar last night?), it's either too debilitating for me to fly, or it's uncomfortable but not severe enough to self-ground.
Headache? Most of us will take a couple of aspirin and go, unless the pain is just too distracting. In that case, prudence dictates at minimum pushing back the departure time until the headache subsides. If it doesn't, scratch the flight. On the other hand, a case of the flu is a slam-dunk--there will be no flying until it passes.
Other physical problems may simply be attributable to lack of food or water. I once met a friend who stopped in at my home airport looking flushed and weak. Turns out he hadn't eaten anything that day, and the stress of the flight and the heat of the day had sapped all of his energy. After a meal and plenty to drink, he quickly returned to full strength.
Things aren't so clear-cut if the problem resides in the head rather than elsewhere in the body. It's not unusual to be less than your best mentally, because the brain is not always operating at 100-percent throttle. On any given day we may be somewhat distracted, depressed, ill-tempered, anxious, inattentive, punky, or sleep deprived. It could be bad biorhythms, a problem at work, or the bank may have sent an e-mail reporting an overdraft.
OK, so we're not at our smartest today. Does that mean we shouldn't fly? In an ideal world, yes, and personal general aviation flying is an ideal world. If we're not feeling in tip-top form, we can choose to come back and fly another day and no one will argue, no one will complain. But in the real world of flying for a paycheck, we'll probably go. And why not? We've done this before--launched with the throttles all the way forward but the brain down a few horsepower. What's the harm?
It depends. If flying single pilot in a complex airplane in challenging conditions--busy airspace, active weather, low ceilings, and nighttime all qualify--you'll need all the smarts you can muster. A mistake such as missing a controller's handoff may be relatively inconsequential when there's little pressure, say in VFR cruise flight. However, that same missed handoff could have more serious consequences if it occurs on approach in the clouds during rush hour at a major airport.
Minimizing the impact of sub-par mental performance is the fundamental advantage of being part of a two-person cockpit crew. If one pilot is having a mistake-prone day, for whatever reason, the other member of the crew is there to monitor, intercede, correct, cover--whatever it takes to keep things safe. Two pilots who work well together will recognize when one or the other is having a challenging day, and compensate.
That help is not available to the single pilot, who must exercise caution when things don't go so smoothly because it's a bad brain day. That's when you want to do the checklists twice, talk out loud to yourself, and try to avoid flying at the edges of the envelope. Give yourself some breathing room so that small mental errors don't become consequential ones.
I got through the day with no major piloting gaffes, just a few more small ones. I made an incorrect entry in the flight management system while en route, and I waited too long to ask air traffic control for a descent to our destination airport. The landing certainly wasn't my best ever, but it wasn't much of a bounce, and the passengers didn't complain. I left the airport that evening resolving to be smarter the next day.
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.
