Sweat the small stuff

When I arrived at Vance Air Force Base in Enid, Oklahoma, the notoriously high attrition rates in U.S. Air Force Undergraduate Pilot Training (UPT) became real, and personal. Smart, talented officers a couple of classes ahead of me struggled and moved back a class, or got eliminated altogether. The struggles were usually caused by airsickness or nerves—what we’d now label anxiety. Even some more adventurous personalities and experienced pilots occasionally struggled with airsickness, since the Cessna T–37 had more performance and agility than any of us had experienced. It didn’t seem wise to assume immunity, regardless of your background. Anxiety sometimes derailed pilots when they had a bad sortie or two early on and were slow on checklists or hesitated to find the right switch. They’d get flustered and then self-analyze every move, second-guessing themselves, while flying under the scrutiny of an intense instructor.

I started UPT confident, but nervous. My aspiration was to fly fighters, which, in those years, meant graduating in the top 20 percent of the class. Further, I didn’t just want fighters, I wanted the F–15, and there were typically only one or two F–15 assignments in each UPT class. I couldn’t afford to start slow out of the gate.

As we finished ground school and headed to the flight line, I worked to get ahead of any potential sickness or nerves by growing my comfort level in an Air Force cockpit. I spent hours in static trainers after work, memorizing switch locations and selecting them with my eyes closed. I ran through checklists over and over and over again, under a hood, or with lights out and just a flashlight. I’d choose items randomly and out of order to build awareness of their exact position. I’d often study ground school lessons while sitting in the trainers to absorb the cockpit surroundings and get used to long sits in the hard seats.

Helmets, freshly molded for custom fit to our heads, were a source of poor performance on early flights. Students struggled getting used to wearing the heavy helmets, some of which weren’t molded accurately and caused hot spots and headaches during the flight. Some students struggled with the smell of rubber and rubbing alcohol the first time they connected their masks. Others got nauseated from the smell of jet fuel. Students would sometimes grow anxious with the many buckles, snaps, and belts to be fastened, which could be confusing in a helmet with a mask blocking your view. An impatient and attentive instructor watching them fumble magnified the stress and caused more fumbling.

My solution was to eliminate all the small bothers, so I could focus on flying the airplane and operating the systems. I took my helmet home and would sit for hours wearing it in my apartment, while studying or reading. If it had a hot spot, I wanted to learn that before I hopped in the airplane. I’d buckle and unbuckle the chin strap and the bayonet clasps for the oxygen mask. I’d fasten the oxygen mask shut, experimenting with the number of “clicks” that felt right and gave me a good seal. Then I wore it, fully fastened in lengthening increments so that by my first flight, I could withstand a couple hours in the helmet, mask fastened or unfastened, visor up or down, comfortably. I’d grown accustomed to the feel of a helmet, its weight and bulkiness, and the mobility of my head. I also acclimated to the smell of the oxygen mask and reduced visibility, which can feel somewhat claustrophobic. I could quickly and smoothly work the tiny fasteners with a flick of my fingers. I went back to the trainer, donned my helmet, and worked through the switches, visor up and down. None of those things would make for a great flight, but they could make for a miserable one.

Some colleagues in earlier classes reported nausea from the hot flight line and the smells of JP-4, oil, hydraulic fluid, and other jet aircraft aromatics. So, I spent hours on or near the flight line before my first flight, getting acclimated to the smells and adjusting to the stifling Oklahoma heat wearing a dark green, long-sleeve Nomex flight suit.

I’ll never know what difference this approach made in my Air Force flying. But eliminating small things so they don’t preclude big performance continues to be a staple in how I fly GA.

Go fly. Sweat the right small details, so they don’t derail big performance.

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