As I write this, it’s mid-April and over the past week the temperature has fluctuated from the high 40s to the mid 70s—and back. “Five more degrees,” my student says. I see my student often, but for the past two months it’s been all in the office and not in the airplane. His plea for atmospheric mercy is part of his apparent pursuit of a scientifically perfect flying temperature. Between brisk preflights, nippy airplane hangar puzzles, and frigid fueling, he has readily learned the ups and downs of flying weather. “Now I know why people say there is a flying season,” he says.
As a flight instructor, I’ve had the pleasure of teaching in extremes—from Florida’s swampy summer to New Hampshire’s snowy winter. Seeing the way people react to flight training’sweather barriers has always been a fun exercise in teasing out motivation.
My current student—who is learning to fly strictly for the joy of it—has no desire to wear five jackets and three pairs of gloves simply to bang aroundthe pattern for an hour. It’s hard to blame him. Students in the collegiate program where I used to teach usually seemed to take the cold in stride. In fact, it was often the operations manual—with its minus 25-degree wind chill limit—that forced us to stay on the ground.
In Florida I was the one who lacked motivation. Never having been one for the heat, I would stagger outside at the last possible minute and leave the airplane door and windows open until we rolled onto the runway. I, like many instructors in the Sunshine State, started every lesson with a plea to the student to get the fan turning as fast as possible. Maybe that’s why my cockpit setup doesn’t happen until after the motor is running.
Many pilots continue their seasonal inertia even once they are out of the training ranks, especially if theyare airplane owners. On one handyou can keep the gear you want in the hangar and the airplane. No moreshowing up without gloves, a hat,sunscreen, water—or a space heater, for that matter.
But if you’re good to your magic carpet and you live up North, you will end up having to preheat and scrape off frost at some point—perhaps the world’s two most agonizing chores. Or you could move to a heated hangar like the big boys, assuming you have a big checkbook.
The rest of us will be left toiling with removing sunshades, yanking off airplane covers, fastening blisteringly hot seat belt buckles, scraping frost with credit cards, and fogging up interior windows.
Yes, there are flying seasons, and each has its flaws. But, wow, fresh snow is beautiful from the air; the trek to the beach is always better by airplane; leaf peeping is epic by air; and taking off is a metaphor tailor made for spring.
So, let’s go flying.
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