Here I sit in the right seat of a fine old 172, inside the marker on an ILS approach, my first ever instrument student refusing to correct for the wind. I watch the localizer needle drift off and feel myself twisting my entire upper body to force it back to center. Should I tell him to turn left 10 degrees and start bracketing, just as we discussed on the ground? Or do I let him wander off course and see when he deals with it, if ever?
A couple of hours later, I’m in the same 172, cranking around the pattern with my first ever primary student. I’m a little tired. I’m counting how many hours remain before I can go home and sit down to dinner with my wife. I’m amazed. Never before in my half century of life have I wanted my all-too-occasional days of flying to end. My voice is getting scratchy from all the talking I’ve been doing, explaining, asking questions, making suggestions, telling outright. Too much talking? I don’t know. I’m not sure how to tell when it’s all just noise to my students.
