Features

In recent years, the general aviation community has complained our activity has grown too complicated and, as a result, applicants for the private pilot certificate now average about 70 or so hours before passing a checkride. Yes, aviation has gotten more complicated, but we should question the notion it takes that many hours in an airplane to become a competent private pilot. A corollary is that existing practices also can be improved to benefit existing pilots and enhance their recurrent training experience.

On the off chance you haven’t ventured outside in the last couple of months, it’s winter in the Northern Hemisphere. With it comes, of course, bitter cold in some areas, along with snow, ice, sleet, freezing rain, stiff winds and obscured runways. While winter flying can be some of the most satisfying of all, it’s best to approach this time of year with an open mind, a flexible schedule and warm clothing. And, as with so many other things involving aviation, experience counts.

As an avionics guy, I tempt owners to pull the big-dollar trigger on PFD upgrades. At the end of the day, I usually sleep well because most new owners who take my advice to the bank marvel at the cutting-edge touch of a PFD. The jump from round-gauge to glass flight instrumentation brings serious automation, huge amounts of data in one screen and offers a needed jump-start to old autopilots. But wrapping your head around the electrical interface and how the PFD interacts with other critical systems is a necessary challenge for safe operations. This is a challenge for the information-challenged, and some pilots I’ve turned loose after upgrading their panel do make me lose sleep.

When was the last time you flew a slip? Are slips a necessary maneuver belonging in every pilot’s skill set? Or are they an aerial anachronism, a holdover from earlier flying days, with little application to the modern world? Slips originated in aviation’s early days, when most, if not all, airplanes lacked wing flaps. They were and are used to increase the angle of descent on approach, and to get the airplane’s nose out of the way of the pilot (who often sat well aft) to better see the runway ahead when landing. Given the genesis of the art of slipping, should we still be expected to master it?

The dismal economy has been no help to the average aircraft upgrade budget. If you’ve recently solicited proposals for an ultra-modern avionics retrofit, you may have discovered the soup-to-nuts avionics upgrade you lust for probably isn’t affordable. Moreover, sinking half or more of the aircraft’s value into the panel pushes the boundaries of smart economics. Even the most modest of modern avionics upgrades could put the aircraft upside down financially. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t upgrade at all. In many cases, a budget that can’t afford the latest and greatest gear has the owner sitting on his hands. This leads to neglected panels while safety and utility hang in the balance.

Staying current for IFR—with six approaches, some holding and course interceptions within the preceding six months—isn’t that hard for the active instrument pilot. When you enter engine replacements in your logbook instead of hours, you probably don’t need much in the way of practice. But the guy or gal who’s lucky to get their wings wet in some actual once or twice a year has a different challenge. Somewhere in the middle between the two extremes is where most instrument-rated pilots find themselves, of course. Regardless, even the ace of the base needs to go out occasionally and practice a few things, if for no other reason than to get through the next check ride.

The private pilot certificate is often referred to as a license to learn. In many ways, it is: Suddenly, that piece of plastic allows you to go pretty much where you want, when you want. Ideally, the private is a rung in the ladder of experience, leading to other ratings and certificates. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with remaining a VFR-only private pilot, as long as one recognizes and stays within its obvious limitations.

No matter what we do in an aircraft, we cannot eliminate risk entirely. Instead, we can manage that risk and take positive steps to mitigate or reduce it; in rare cases, we may even be able to eliminate it. An example of the latter might be cancelling a trip for poor weather, or because of a mechanical issue. But we should be mostly concerned with mitigating and reducing the risks our flying poses.. Of course, there are many ways to accomplish these goals. I believe most of us in general aviation have sat through a presentation or seminar discussing risk management.

The little voice inside the pilot’s head nagged on and on: “Headwinds higher than forecast…groundspeed lower than planned…maybe you should recalculate your fuel?” The simple fact is pilots too often fail to act on their internal voices until it’s too late. Accident reports, NASA ASRS submissions and down-and-dirty, true-flight confessions in hangar flying debriefs tell the sad tale. According to NTSB data and analysis by the AOPA Air Safety Institute and the Flight Safety Foundation, improper decision-making—judgment failings, many of them—underpin the majority of the 75 percent of accidents attributed to “pilot error.” It’s not smart to ignore that little voice questioning why you’re ignoring your own best instincts. There are many scenarios where that little voice can start yammering in your ear, perhaps most especially whether there is sufficient fuel aboard.

Airframe icing is one characteristic of flying I’ve learned to respect. Over the years, I picked up my share of it, once carrying at least a quarter-inch of the clear kind for another 500 nm or so before it melted on descent for my destination. In the winter, I pay particular attention to Airmets Zulu, along with temperature aloft and cloud forecasts. There have been many occasions when I simply cancelled or rescheduled a trip on learning the freezing level was at the surface or below my desired cruising altitude and visible moisture was about.