I feel sick

I’ve felt that tinge of sickness in the pit of my stomach many times while flying. It’s come up at night in instrument conditions, when flying into worsening weather, or when the radar was lighting up around me. The feeling has become predictable and occasionally surprising.

I used to listen to it every time, thinking my body had a window into my mind that my consciousness didn’t. If it could sense something was wrong, I figured I’d be wise to listen to it. Lately, I’m not so sure.

I’ve come to rely on a more rational approach, primarily because I no longer trust the slightly queasy uneasiness. It seems now as though the sinking feeling has more to do with irrational fear than some sort of pilot intuition.

Here’s an example. As a new pilot, on a nice day with no convective weather and a high ceiling full of puffy clouds, landing was the riskiest time of the flight. If you dive into the accident record, accidents during landing far outnumber all other types. Being a newer pilot with less experience, the chance of getting blown off the side of the runway and flipping over on landing was significantly higher than a midair collision, flying into a thunderstorm, or any number of other scary events. Yet I never felt scared on landing. Quite the opposite, I approached them with confidence and a sense of challenge.

More recently the feeling crept in as I was jumping into my own airplane, a 1940 Piper J–3 Cub, after having not flown for about three weeks. This felt absurd. It was a beautiful day, the wind was light, the airplane had been flying great, and thus far, my worst landing in the airplane was a controlled two-bouncer while remaining firmly pointed the right way down the runway. I was well prepared and competent in the conditions. There was no rationality.

At this point in my life, I have people who rely on me to get home safely, and I think this has more to do with when and how I get the feeling than any sort of intuition. The consequences of screwing up are significantly higher. When you’re 18, you think you are both invincible and entirely in control of your future. Now I know better.

Thus, I’ve come to believe this sinking feeling we sometimes get as pilots is a red herring. It comes out when it shouldn’t and doesn’t come out when it should. As I said, landings are the riskiest segment of the flight. While it’s true that fatalities during landing accidents aren’t the norm, the overall accident risk is high, and that opens the door to serious injury or a totaled airplane. Yet events that are somewhat rare statistically, such as midair collisions and structural failure, can linger in your mind and make you feel queasy as you enter a busy traffic pattern. For some pilots, even talking on the radio makes them queasy.

I’m not suggesting you ignore the feeling completely. Rather, don’t be a slave to it. If there’s a low overcast and you are just barely instrument current, that’s probably a good time to take note of the feeling and carefully consider the risk profile before blasting off into the murk. But if you’re current and proficient, you’ve done some thorough risk management analysis, and it otherwise seems good, by all means, go.

Because this feeling tends to come up as we push the margins of our abilities, if we listened to it all the time we may never fly, and we’d certainly never expand our skills. Pushing yourself—responsibly and thoughtfully—leads to growth. Personal minimums are meant to be updated, which only happens when you have experience at the margins. That’s where growth happens.

Consider the actual risks and your current abilities. This rational approach will have you flying more than your lizard brain would ever allow.

Contributor Ian J. Twombly only trusts his gut when it comes to dinner.