It’s one of the most important axioms in aviation: Use good judgment so you don’t end up in a situation where you have to rely on skill (or luck) to get you out of it. This is one of those things that should be learned before your first solo, as flying in the pattern requires a great deal of judgment, as there are so many decisions to be made.
Is the weather within your personal limits? Are you too slow on climbout? Are you too far from the runway? Should you give way to that other aircraft? At a nontowered airport, should you take off now or hold for the landing traffic?
Until you exhibit good judgment consistently, don’t expect your CFI to endorse you for solo flight.
Danger of Flying by Rote
There is a difference between following approved procedures in the aircraft, such as clearing the area before turning and checklist use, and flying by rote. I learned the latter from one of my aviation mentors early in my CFI career.
At the airport he was sort of the aviation version of Obi-Wan Kenobi—he had much knowledge and had trained hundreds of successful pilots. He was routinely sought out for his guidance.
When he warned me, “beware of the pilots who fly by rote,” I nodded my head respectfully, but truthfully I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. I knew rote was the lowest level of learning, and it was often manifested by repeating knowledge—basically parroting the information when asked.
I understood how this happened in a classroom since I had experienced it. A particular CFI-I trained with would repeat information louder and slower when I said I didn’t understand it, as if memorizing the phrase equated to learning—it doesn’t. But how could rote apply to the actual flying part?
Learning was about to take place—for me.
Obi-Wan asked me to fly with one of his learners who was having a challenge with landings. The learner came from another school with a private pilot certificate earned a few months earlier.
According to Obi-Wan, the learner was taking remedial training after a bad landing that damaged the gear of a Cessna 172. Obi-Wan was hopeful flying with another CFI would break the logjam, as the learner was a few hours in, but no improvement was being made.
We were flying a flight club Cessna 172. The learner had over 100 hours in this make and model. The takeoff was normal, the turn onto downwind was fine, and the learner ran the appropriate checklist. The altitude was spot on, and so was the spacing from the runway, but then the learner surprised me by reducing the power at midfield rather than abeam the intended point of touchdown.
For a normal landing, not a short approach? I wondered. The learner recited the GUMPS checklist while looking straight ahead—there was no checking of the fuel selector position, mixture, etc., then dropped the first notch of flaps—with the airspeed slightly above the white arc. Both got my attention.
Reciting a checklist isn’t really processing the information, and I admonished the learner about deploying the flaps without first verifying the airspeed. I once saw a bent flap track, which the chief mechanic (swearing like a sailor on leave) attributed to an overspeed condition.
This learner kept looking over at the runway, not necessarily processing what the altimeter read or the sight picture. For the unfamiliar, between the power reduction and base turn there is normally an altitude reduction of approximately 200-300 feet, and the base turn is made when the aircraft is at an approximately 45-degree angle from the runway.
As we were approaching 300-plus feet and getting farther from the runway, I mentioned we were getting too low, and the learner responded by rolling into a 30-degree banked turn to get us on the base leg. A steeper bank angle results in a faster turn and in less time to configure (i.e. stay ahead of) the airplane.
While it may be appropriate to “rush” the pattern when you’re No. 1 of (insert larger number) for landing, in an emergency, or when the tower tells you to make a short approach, it wasn’t appropriate for us as the only one in the pattern at the nontowered airport. It can also result in a loss of lift, which it did this time as we rolled onto final and were greeted by three red lights on the PAPI.
“We’re too low. Add power,” I said as the runway out the windscreen was creeping up—the classic sign of a too-low approach.
The learner complied, adding another 200 rpm, which caused a slight climb, then added one more notch of flaps, and the aircraft settled on speed but was still too low when they dumped in all the flaps on short final, causing the aircraft to balloon up and the airspeed to diminish. This approach was anything but stable, and we were still too far away to make the runway when the learner started to pull back on the yoke—the dreaded “stretch-the-glide” maneuver.
I called for a go-around in my “instructor” voice, and when the learner hesitated, “My plane!” came out of my mouth as I took over and added power to avoid a stall. I explained what I was doing as we climbed up and cleaned up and why we had gone around.
On downwind, I gave the controls back to the learner. There was a discussion about not attempting to stretch the glide and the appropriate use of flaps.
“If you are too low and slow, you don’t need to add more flaps,” I explained.
“In ground school we learned you should always land with full flaps,” the learner argued.
What followed next were a series of approaches—and a few go-arounds—with more judicious use of flaps and more attention paid to airspeed, pitch, rate of descent, and glide path.
I asked the learner to “teach me the pattern,” which includes the “why” of their action. “Why are you adding flaps?” “Because we are too high and too fast,” etc.
Learning took place, and during the postflight briefing we discussed that flaps could be thought of like money. Plan for their appropriate use, and if you don’t need to use them (all) for a successful outcome, don’t. And most importantly, a pilot must maintain situational awareness and stay ahead of the airplane—analyze your situation before you act.
