The hard yards

I bet parts of the Blue Angels show are easy for them, like flying fingertip formation, doing turning rejoins. Or when the last pilot comes diving down at 450 knots to rejoin the other five, then tucking into place in the tight formation—it’s horseplay.

But I realized the Blue Angels have to constantly practice the “hard” parts of their airshow to be that good. Like a short video of Roger Federer I once saw, where he said he got out on the tennis court every day for five hours and “did the hard yards” by training during the hottest hours so he could adapt and play his best in any condition.

The cruise portion of a flight is easy. One time, a couple of airline pilots fell asleep, flew right past Minneapolis, and allegedly landed in the parking lot of the FAA headquarters. Without too much mental effort, flying in my Lancair IVP, I can fly overhead patterns, do touch-and-goes, or switch runways without thinking all that much.

But when I have to think—walk and chew gum—those are the “hard parts,” the parts of flying I have to practice.

The other day I wanted to practice filing IFR from nontowered airports, which is usually easy. Starting in Brainerd, Minnesota, I filed IFR to Park Rapids (PKD), then I filed an IFR flight plan on my iPad using ForeFlight, and finally, called Minneapolis Center. The person who answered politely told me to call them on the radio, so I did, using the frequency 132.15 MHz, which I looked up on a plate since they didn’t give me a frequency on the phone. I copied a clearance, because they also wanted to know which runway I was using, when I was taking off, and if I could copy down three different Zulu times quickly.

Then ATC spewed out something like: Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, cleared to Park Rapids as filed, climb and maintain four thousand feet, expect seven thousand feet in 10 minutes, contact Minneapolis Center on this frequency when entering controlled airspace, squawk four-six-two-one, cleared for release, clearance void if not off by one-four-five-five Zulu; time now one-four-four-five Zulu, if not off by one-five-zero-five Zulu, advise no later than one-five-two-zero Zulu.”

So, I read the words back, took off, and flew directly into a thunderstorm. There was extreme precipitation at my 12 o’clock. “Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, request deviation for weather.”  

“Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, cleared deviation right or left for weather.” The radio was busy, so while the controller tried to keep a Cessna Citation pilot out of the weather, I flew toward it. The black, blue and gray cloud mass was too big to go around and too tall to get over, with earth-shattering lightning.

As I flew closer I realized the clouds were on three sides of me—I saw no way through. I keyed the mic and said, “Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, I would like to do a one-eighty right now to avoid weather.” The controller replied, “Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, understand you’d like to do a one-eighty turn?”  

But now I had to turn, and as I rolled into a monster bank, pulled up, and added power, I said “Affirmative, turning now, one-eighty for weather.”  

I then understood why people get spatial disorientation and lose control when going from visual conditions to instrument conditions. I went from flying on autopilot, looking outside at the “horizon” (a jumbled mess) to hand-flying, looking inside at the attitude indicator (with my internal gyros a jumbled mess). My inner ears were telling me I was upside down like a Blue Angel as I accelerated, racked the aircraft into a bank, and did the one-eighty.

ATC said, “OK, Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, where would you like to go, instead of Park Rapids?” 

“Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, I want to go to Fargo.”

Then: “Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, Fargo is to your east, you are heading north. I’m happy to give you a clearance if you tell me where you’d like to go.”

I thought about where I’d like to tell him to go, but said, “Lancair two-four-six-hotel-uniform, straight ahead now for weather.” I had to get out of that pocket. Then ATC gave me straight ahead for a couple miles and advised me to turn zero-niner-zero to get around the cell. He asked that I let him know when it was clear for me to turn south to get around the line of thunderstorms.

After I skirted the cells, turned right, and landed in Fargo, I spoke to a seasoned charter pilot there and told him my story. The grizzled 45-year-old soberly nodded his head in complete understanding and didn’t ridicule me at all outwardly.  

He said, “I just turn. I request an avoidance vector well in advance of the cell—or look at ForeFlight and file for a flight plan around the bad weather.” He said flying well wide of a cell doesn’t take that much extra time, versus flying fairly close and then having to deviate around the weather anyway.

Different pilots struggle in different areas. Some pilots can land better than others, while some can fly aerobatics well. Some can fly instrument approaches flawlessly, while some are good flight instructors or have excellent CRM skills. But there’s always something a pilot can improve on.

Matt Johnson is a CFI/CFII/ATP CE–500 with 2500 hours. He owns a Lancair IVP.