A year ago I raced through my instrument training, learning just what I needed to know to pass my checkride and fly legally into instrument meteorological conditions (IMC). At least, according to the FAA’s minimum standards. I met the requirements, proved my practical skills, and shook the examiner’s hand at the end of the flight. But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with exercising that privilege. Now I find myself anxious about flying an approach or filing an IFR flight plan without another instrument-rated pilot beside me.
Why is that? Doesn’t having my IFR ticket mean I am at the top of my game at this point in my flying? Why should it intimidate me? I haven’t flown an approach, real or simulated, in more than eight months. I lost faith in my abilities to interpret and visualize an approach. The idea of copying and flying a clearance that deviated from what I had planned puts me on edge. Did I not exercise my privileges because I lost faith in my abilities, or lose faith in my skills because I wasn’t flying IFR flight plans?
Regardless of the answer, the simple fact remains: I wouldn’t dream of flying an approach today (even if I didn’t need an instrument proficiency check) without a CFII next to me. In my mind, if I had trained harder, I wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable with IFR flight today.
There are 10 things I would have changed during my instrument training:
10. Fly more actual IMC.
During my instrument training, I logged a total of 0.5 hours of actual IMC time. All of it occurred during the en-route portion of our long cross-country training flight. Yes, I became disoriented by the milky clouds outside my windows. Yes, I forced myself to trust my instruments, even as my kinesthetic senses were screaming that we were turning left (when in reality we were straight and level). My instructor only let me deviate about 10 degrees off course.
“So where are we going?” he asked as I slowly banked the Cessna 172 to the right.
“We’re slowly turning left,” I replied.
“You sure?”
No, I wasn’t sure until I confirmed our heading with the directional gyro, magnetic compass, and turn coordinator. I was so focused on maintaining altitude that I held my heading properly. But it didn’t feel like it. Our training flights were primarily done in the morning, before work. Had we scheduled more afternoon flights, we could have taken advantage of the hazy mid-Atlantic conditions that simulate actual IMC better than the cool, clear skies of sunrise. Why not add as much reality into your training sessions as you can?
9. Fly more full IFR flights.
Most of our training revolved around practicing approaches. Because approaches are what the practical exam would focus on, that’s what training emphasizes. Like many who learn to fly at a nontowered field, talking to ATC on any level intimidated me—it still does. So the extra anxiety of filing a flight plan and then copying down a clearance and reading it back correctly didn’t exactly fit my idea of a good time. What if we were given a clearance that differed from what we filed? Could I plan that new route and tune my navigation instruments properly while managing all of the tasks of takeoff? After all, ATC is expecting us to be rolling within minutes of giving us our clearance. That is a lot to manage at one time.
I wish we had spent more time flying IFR flight plans from start to finish. Many instrument students accomplish this as they build their cross-country time to meet the requirements. Having all the necessary cross-country time before beginning IFR training actually was a handicap. Don’t worry about logging that cross-country time—it’s better to build it during instrument training, when you can grasp the whole process simultaneously.
8. Practice writing down clearances.
This is a great exercise for those days you can’t get into the cockpit. I like to think of it as bar flying. Sitting down for a frosty beverage with your instructor as he reads off a clearance while you copy it down and read it back to him is a good way to familiarize yourself with the terminology
of the IFR flight plan. Take that a step further—lay out an en route chart while you’re doing this, and have your instructor clear you for a route you didn’t anticipate. Explain how you would set up your radios to intercept that intersection you need to fly directly to.
Take the Air Safety Institute’s course, Say It Right: Mastering Radio Communication for IFR operations. Or drop a few bucks and pick up some IFR communication software. These DVD sets allow you to simulate IFR communication with nothing more than a computer, speakers, and a microphone.
7. Fly approaches to as many different airports as practical.
We spent a lot of time practicing the exact approaches I would need to perform on my checkride—all three of them. When the big day arrived, I knew those approaches like the back of my hand. But in practical terms, I would have been intimidated if I had to fly an approach at a different airport. There is no reason you can’t practice an ILS approach at an airport other than where you train. A VOR approach at your home airport can be a lot different than the VOR approach at the airport 30 minutes away. Become comfortable with different approaches.
6. Train in aircraft with different avionics.
Fly an automatic direction finder (ADF) approach just to see how they operate. Train for a distance measuring equipment (DME) arc in case you one day have to fly one. At least you will know what they are. Inevitably, if you keep flying you will encounter different aircraft with different avionics. While they may all do the same thing, the way they do them can be vastly different. Can you program a GPS approach in a Garmin G1000? How about a Bendix/King KLN94? Learning different avionics before you develop habits and fall into a comfort zone keeps you on your toes.
I completed all my training in the airplane I flew for my checkride: a 1976 Cessna 172 with two VOR radios, one of which had a glideslope indicator. The airplane met the IFR certification requirements, and was maintained to do so. But it also meant I could only fly a VOR approach, a localizer approach, and an ILS approach. No GPS, no ADF, nothing fancy. Training for my instrument rating in an airplane that didn’t have a GPS addressed a previous overreliance on the GPS, and certainly improved my VOR skills—but I spent very little time learning GPS approaches because I couldn’t shoot one in that 172.
There is a flip side to this coin. Instrument training is taxing, challenging you mentally and physically. You may be forced to fly more precisely than you have in the past. Mixing up avionics may be too much when everything else drops on you. Training solely in one airplane did stack the odds in my favor for the checkride.
5. Fly with different instructors periodically.
Use different instructors as checkups. Each instructor has his or her own style of teaching, and you can benefit from the strengths of each instructor you fly with. I had a great instrument instructor, but a different one would have given me another perspective or way of doing things.
A few months after my checkride I flew with another CFII, and kept overcorrecting while on final for the ILS. This instructor gave me a pointer on using the rudder to keep myself lined up on the approach path. While this technique may not have been accepted on the checkride, kicking a quick jab of rudder to momentarily bring the nose of the airplane around worked to keep me lined up with the runway. I never even thought to use this technique during my initial training.
4. Chair fly.
Close your eyes, open a book of approach plates to a random approach, and pick one. Mentally step through it. Tell yourself where you would begin the approach if coming from all four cardinal directions. Imagine yourself tuning your VORs or pressing the proper buttons on your GPS to get it set up. Picture yourself setting the power. What will your power settings need to be to get to the proper altitude at your initial approach fix, but not below? You may surprise yourself and notice a situation that you have a question about—ask your instructor. It is far better to run into a scenario on the ground than to have to deal with it in IMC, when there’s no one around to ask.
The best part about this exercise is that it won’t cost you any money. It is a great way to kill time on the train to work, on your lunch break, or while waiting for your coffee and bagel. You can carry around approach plates relatively easily. The psychological effect of knowing you are still learning, even when you aren’t flying, is liberating.
3. Slow down a bit.
Having met all of the cross-country PIC time requirements allowed me to hit the approaches fast and furiously. I burned through my instrument training and came out three months later as an instrument-rated pilot. But I never really cemented the skills or knowledge because I didn’t give myself time to absorb what I was learning.
Some will suggest that you learn what’s required to pass your checkride, then gain comfort with it later. I don’t like that approach. Having an IFR ticket doesn’t mean you should jump into the soup immediately just because the FAA says you can. Start with very generous weather limitations, and work your way to lower ceilings and reduced visibility.
2. Read...and learn.
A few months ago I was listening to the Air Safety Institute’s Real Pilot Stories about a vacuum failure in IMC. I asked myself how I would respond in that situation. Would I have the presence of mind to realize what was happening? Sadly, I had to be honest and answer no.
Learn from others and practice this scenario. Try to make your training as real as possible. Tell your instructor to start unexpectedly throwing curve balls at you by covering up various instruments.
Go beyond training materials to gather any information related to IFR flying. Hang out on the AOPA Forums. Listen to other pilot stories. Question whether or not you would have the wherewithal to respond properly to others’ misfortunes. If not, incorporate that into your training. Go beyond what the PTS requires you to learn. If you experience different scenarios during your initial instrument training, your brain is already primed to incorporate the new material—if you wait six months, it will be more difficult.
1. Practice, practice, practice.
I unnecessarily put myself into a time crunch with my training. I passed the instrument knowledge test well before beginning the flight training. Then life happened. Suddenly, I had just four months to pass my checkride before all of that time and energy would be in vain. So I focused on doing exactly what I needed to do, learning exactly what I needed to learn, to pass the checkride.
The night before my checkride, I flew one more practice flight to polish my approaches. My instructor, not the one from whom I received most of my training, sat in the right seat. My holding patterns felt wrong, I blew my altitude on the ILS approach, and just felt as though I performed terribly overall.
“I am so going to fail this tomorrow,” I said dejectedly.
She replied, “If I had a nickel for every student who said that before their checkride, I wouldn’t need to work any more.”
I passed. But I felt as though I cheated the system. Luckily, I know my limits. I know my comfort zone and I know that I need to expand it. Like any skill, practice is paramount. Instrument flying is a skill that needs to be developed, honed, and sharpened. Constantly. Training shouldn’t begin—or end—with that handshake from the examiner.
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