Proficient Pilot: Dear Diary

Barry Schiff made his first logbook entry in 1952 and has filled almost 12 volumes (shown above) with more than 28,000 hours.

One way to do this is to brainstorm with another writer who can empathize with such a problem. So it was that I found myself discussing potential topics with my good friend, Martha Lunken, a columnist for Flying magazine. Not surprisingly, we share the same frustration. One of us finally blurted, “Logbooks. How about a column about logbooks?” We both liked the idea, but which of us would use that subject? We finally agreed that each of us could as long as our approaches to the topic were somewhat different.

When I was an FAA-designated examiner, I obviously had to inspect applicants’ logbooks. These varied from being illegible to works of art. One in particular was a calligraphic masterpiece, the creation of a pilot who took great pride in her entries. Whenever she flew a new type of aircraft or landed somewhere for the first time, she would enter the aircraft type in red and the airport name in green. This allowed her to keep track of her growing “collection” of aircraft and airports. Unusual comments were highlighted in yellow, which allowed her to easily review her remarks. This logbook was as much a diary as a record of flight.

I was so impressed with her logbook that I began to employ a similar system of highlighting and even added a few embellishments. When landing in a foreign country for the first time, for example, I paste local currency beneath the logbook entry reflecting that visit.

The most entertaining and memorable aspects of most logbooks are the written comments. My first such remark, however, evokes a memory of stark terror. It reads, “Encountered rain!” This might seem like an innocuous event to you, but to a 16-year-old far from home on his first solo cross-country, this was absolutely terrifying. I had no idea what to expect when flying through rain in a fabric-covered Aeronca held together by nails and glue. All I knew is that my paper models didn’t fly very well when they got wet. You cannot believe how relieved I was when the brief rain shower ended minutes later.

On another page I wrote, “Don’t do that again.” I wish I could remember what I did to warrant that comment, although I can think of many things I did that I should not have done.

Those who enter airports in their logbooks using official designations are cheating themselves of precious memories. Although you’ll always know where JFK and LAX are, you likely won’t always remember where flights to L52 and F70 took you. Write out airport names so that you can more easily recall your adventures.

Most pilots—especially newbies—log flights with the diligence of a high-schooler making entries in a diary. After all, our logbooks are like diaries, records of our life in the air. Some pilots, though, don’t log any of their flights. These pilots need to be aware that they are required to log all flight time needed to demonstrate currency and to qualify for a new certificate or rating. Nothing else need be logged.

Can a pilot log time in a hang glider? Sure, but it won’t count for anything. You can even log time driving a Humvee, although it won’t count for anything either.

I once knew a pilot who maintained a second logbook, one in which the only items entered were the errors made during each flight. “After all,” he said, “we make mistakes and learn lessons every time we fly.” Such a log, of course, is for one’s personal use and is not intended for the eyes of others. It is a record to be reviewed on occasion and serves as a reminder of our vulnerability. It also helps us to avoid repeating mistakes—even though most of us would rather forget them.

A second logbook is not for everyone. It is especially not for those who never make mistakes. For us mortals, however, a simple, ongoing list of lessons learned can be equally effective.

Increasingly, pilots are logging their flight time digitally and storing their adventures on a server. As far as this dinosaur is concerned, electronic logging seems cold and impersonal, whereas traditional logbooks allow us to flip through pages for a better sense of our aviation prowess and experience.

The saddest logbook entry, of course, will be our last. It will designate a time when the sun has set on our life in the air. The remaining blank pages will forlornly await the pen that no longer writes.

Web: barryschiff.com