Always learning

When we feel like time is scarce, we squander the moments we have dwelling on the ones we’ve lost. “Saving time” often means neglecting the experiences that nourish us, or checking out from the present to worry about the future. In flying as in life, finding fulfillment requires us to slow down and live in the moments we have.

I don’t often have a chance to fly for a big weekend trip, so most of my flying lately has been local flights for my own enjoyment or proficiency. Destinations and hamburger runs get a lot of our attention, but short, regular proficiency flights are just as important. They’re an opportunity to focus on maneuvers that don’t get as much attention when we’re flying straight and level to a destination, and they fill the gaps between trips to help keep us safe and proficient. But proficiency flights don’t always have the structure or the intrinsic motivation of a flight to a destination, and busy schedules full of competing priorities often squeeze the time we make available for them. It’s easy to see the airplane stacked three aircraft deep in a community hangar, or eye the conga line on the taxiway on a busy day, and wonder: Is it really worth it?

I try to schedule proficiency flights before work, so lingering morning fog, a sluggish fuel truck, or other delays cut into the time I’ve dedicated to keeping my skills sharp. If the weather forecast is marginal, it’s tempting to decide the chance of a productive flight isn’t worth the risk of wasting time preflighting and updating weather briefings for a flight that doesn’t happen.

But I’ve come to realize that time isn’t wasted. Yes, it’s frustrating to do the work without the payoff of a scenic or productive flight, but many of the lessons I’ve learned in aviation have come on days I didn’t make it very far.

My first close look at a general aviation aircraft engine with the cowling off happened during primary training after a magneto check produced a 200-rpm drop on one magneto. Leaning the engine on runup didn’t clear the suspected fouled spark plug, so we taxied back to the maintenance shop. Instead of practicing landings that day, I peered over the mechanic’s shoulder while he pulled the spark plugs and showed me what lead deposits look like.

If you’re going to be stuck on the ground, I recommend getting stuck with an airframe and powerplant mechanic nearby. Seeing familiar airframes in various states of disassembly—engine off, or a composite fuselage removed to reveal the steel frame construction—puts handbook diagrams in perspective and deepens your understanding of the aircraft you fly. A&Ps are often happy to field pilots’ questions, and the really patient ones might even put you to work.

Marginal forecasts might warrant an early cancelation for a trip when you absolutely have to be at a destination on time, but watching and waiting makes more sense when you have the flexibility to scale back plans as needed. I recently showed up at the airport suspicious of a METAR reporting clear skies but a 0-degree temperature/dew point spread. Seeing nothing but a high scattered cloud layer, I took off for pattern work. By the time I was on downwind a few puffs of cloud had developed at traffic pattern altitude, so I taxied back after only one landing. That flight didn’t add much to my logbook tally, but it gave a real-world demonstration of the potential of moisture in the air.

Pilots often cite the adage, “It’s better to be on the ground wishing you were in the air than to be in the air wishing you were on the ground.” That’s true, but there are no virtue points awarded for being overly conservative. It’s OK to show up, do one last check of weather reports and forecasts, and make the call on site. If you cancel, you may still swap hangar stories, peer under cowlings, or stop for breakfast at the airport café. A drive to the airport isn’t wasted if you scrub the flight.

You might find yourself on the ground, but you’re likely to find yourself in good company.