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Trust your gut

It’s as reliable as any gauge on the panel

The Cessna 320 Skyknight and I darted playfully among towering cumulus during an instrument flight over the Rocky Mountains between Denver and Salt Lake City. The passageways separating the cotton pillars were so enveloping and eerily defined that they created a sense of claustrophobia. But as the sun set and the cloud canyons began to close, I noticed ice forming on the wings.

Neither I nor the airplane were equipped for that, and I should have reversed course. It was important, though, for me to complete this flight. My new job as a charter pilot could have been at stake.

If I had paid attention to what I now regard as the most important instrument in the airplane, I would have avoided having to make an emergency landing in Farmington, New Mexico, with a heavy load of mixed ice and risking the loss of more than just a job.

When I was a young flight instructor, my student and I lined up for departure from the Six-S Ranch near Newhall, California. The airplane’s nose pointed at the tall trees at the far end of the short, dirt runway. The 65-horsepower Aeronca Champ had anemic performance at best, and a pilot’s operating handbook had never been published for the airplane. I could only hope that we had enough runway. Nightfall was approaching, and the Champ did not have lights. I gave in to the urge to take off.

The airplane was equipped, however, with an instrument that cautioned me not to depart from that runway with such a relatively heavy load on such a hot day. Unfortunately, I ignored its warning and took off, barely clearing the trees.

The gauge to which I refer in both of these instances is not a conventional instrument, but it can be found aboard every airplane. It is not installed at the factory or afterwards. Instead, pilots bring it with them on every flight. I am referring to our “gut instinct,” that gnawing feeling in the stomach that warns when we are about to do something risky or stupid. It is that almost indescribable, uncomfortable feeling that reminds us when conditions are not as they should be. It is as reliable as any gauge on the panel and rarely misleads.

I have been engaged in the formal study of aircraft accidents for more than 50 years, and this has led me to conclude that most of those pilots who fall victim to their own poor judgment have ample time to heed their inner warnings and avoid a confrontation with fate. If a pilot finds himself wondering whether doing something is right or wrong, it’s probably wrong. You can call this common sense, judgment, or simply an inner voice that whispers warnings. However you choose to describe this survival instinct, it is something we cannot afford to ignore.

A friend once called me from Dodge City, Kansas, to seek advice. She had landed there after perceiving an engine problem that she could not definitively describe.

“What should I do?” she asked. “If I return home without my airplane, and nothing is found wrong with the engine, everyone will think I’m a wimp. But I’m concerned that something really is wrong.”

I asked her what she felt in her gut, what her instincts told her to do. She said that her stomach was churning. “The answer to your question is simple,” I said. “Just listen to your tummy.”

It’s irrelevant that a mechanic later determined that the engine in her Grumman American Tiger was operating normally. What does matter is that she made the right decision, even though this resulted in a delayed departure. This and similar stories make me wonder how many pilots ignore their instincts and instead submit to some form of pressure that compels them to continue when conditions suggest otherwise. The safest pilots are those who make the most conservative decisions. They show greater courage than those who take chances, even if the gamblers complete their flights without incident. Good pilots are comfortable and secure in their convictions to abide by what is in the best interest of safety.

I recall a particularly foggy afternoon at my home airport. Approaching pilots were executing missed approaches and scattering to nearby alternates. One pilot, however, was persistent and landed when more experienced pilots did not. We assumed he had busted minimums to get in and then strutted like a rooster in our pilot lounge. He set a bad example, and instructors there viewed him with disdain.

Didn’t this pilot have an instinctive feeling to signal his violation of sanity and regulation? Probably, but he chose instead to override his intuition.

I have a gut feeling that many pilots know exactly what I mean.

www.BarrySchiff.com

Barry Schiff
Barry Schiff
Barry Schiff has been an aviation media consultant and technical advisor for motion pictures for more than 40 years. He is chairman of the AOPA Foundation Legacy Society.

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