NGPA, a worldwide organization for the LGBTQ+ community, is doing its share to encourage its members to begin their aviation careers by once again offering its annual scholarship program to those interested in becoming pilots, A&P mechanics, or other general aviation-related vocations. 

With the support of generous NGPA members and corporate sponsors, they continue the tradition of their annual scholarship program, providing financial support to the most qualified and highest-achieving members through a scholarship to pursue those lofty dreams.

And NGPA’s scholarship program is more than just a financial aid opportunity. It’s a powerful statement about the organization’s commitment to diversity, inclusion, and excellence within the aviation industry. By providing recipients with the necessary financial support, NGPA is not just helping them reach their professional goals but also paving the way for a more diverse and inclusive aviation community.

Applications for the annual scholarship program are now being accepted and are due June 30. To apply, simply visit the NGPA website and complete the online opportunity profile. Additional information, such as eligibility conditions, required documentation, and how the selection process works, can also be found on the NGPA website, located at: Apply – NGPA – The Worldwide LGBTQ+ Aviation Community

The post NGPA Scholarship Applications Open for 2024 appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Updated categories include: 

• Airline Transport Pilot and Type Rating for Airplane: ACS-11A
• Aircraft Dispatcher PTS: 8081-10E
• Commercial Pilot, Airplane: ACS-7B
• Commercial Pilot, Rotorcraft Helicopter: ACS-16
• Flight Instructor, Airplane: ACS-25
• Flight Instructor, Instrument Airplane and Helicopter PTS: 8081-9E
• Flight Instructor, Rotorcraft Helicopter: ACS-29
• Instrument Rating, Airplane: ACS-8C
• Instrument Rating, Helicopter: ACS-14
• Private Pilot, Airplane: ACS-6C
• Private Pilot, Rotorcraft Category Helicopter: ACS-15

The individual documents are linked above to the FAA site for ease of reference. There are updates for the ATP type rating for powered lift, and the powered lift instrument, private, commercial, and instructor ratings. There is also an updated ACS Companion Guide for Pilots. 

The post New ACS for Nearly Every Pilot Category in Effect May 31 appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Still, the U.S. is one of the friendliest countries for learning to fly. Knowing which questions to ask is half the battle, and among a long list of decisions you’ll be faced with as you begin your pilot journey is whether you will train under a Part 141 vs Part 61 flight school. 

The biggest difference between Part 61 vs Part 141 flight schools is that Part 141 flight schools are more highly regulated and regimented. At the end of the day, both lead to the same FAA certifications, but given your particular situation, one may provide more benefits than the other.

Before we go further, though, a quick note: Do not let confusion stand in your way of starting! No matter which path you choose, one of the most beneficial ways to get started is to enroll in ground school. Online ground schools are an excellent way to get a head start in your training. 

Here are some reputable and respected online ground schools to look into:

• ASA
• Pilot Institute 
• Gold Seal 
• Angle of Attack
• King Schools
• Rod Machado

Now, let’s take a look at some of the benefits and potential drawbacks of Part 61 vs. Part 141 flight training. 

What Is Part 141 in Aviation?

First, let’s talk about what a “Part” is. When you see this term, we’re talking about a Part (like a section or chapter) in the Federal Aviation Regulations. The FARs are actually Title 14 of the Code of Federal Regulations (CFR), the same document that codifies regulations for highways, agriculture, elections, and pretty much every other function of the U.S. government. 

So, Part 141 and Part 61 are simply sections in the FAR that regulate the requirements for the certification of flight schools and pilots. You’ll learn more about FARs in ground school. 

Part 141 is more focused on regulating the requirements of a flight school, as opposed to those of the individual pilot. A flight school certified under Part 141 adheres to stricter requirements. They are flight schools with structured, FAA-approved curricula that follow a regimented schedule for a series of courses and accompanying stage checks. These stricter requirements provide a number of benefits, but may not be the right fit for every aspiring pilot.

Pros:

• Lower minimum hour requirement: This is probably the biggest benefit of FAA Part 141 flight training, particularly for the budget-conscious student. Thanks to the regimented schedule and curriculum, the FAA private pilot requirements for Part 141 students conduct their private pilot certification check ride with just 35 hours (vs the 40 hours for private pilots in Part 61 flight training). Fewer hours mean lower cost. 

These hour differences add up quickly, especially if you pursue advanced certificates like commercial and airline transport pilot ratings. To be clear, however, these are minimums — the actual hours required will vary by pilot and performance.  

• Predictability: The required curriculum means you’ll know what to expect, and when to expect it. Thanks to the schedule, you will also have a better idea of how quickly you will complete your training than you would in a Part 161 flight school. 
• More streamlined:  Part 141 schools cater to the aspiring professional pilot. Most have better resources, facilities, and planes due to periodic, no-notice audits by the FAA. Part 141 flight schools integrate ground school lessons into their structured curriculum, often aligning them to the practical flight lessons and providing more materials so that theory meets practice. 

Some even partner with some of the online providers already mentioned above thanks to their quality.

Cons:

• Less flexibility: While many students benefit from a set curriculum, it also reduces flexibility. Most Part 141 flight schools require you conduct all training at their school once you start, and they expect you to stick to their often fast paced schedule.
• Assigned flight instructor: Part 141 schools typically assign flight instructors with little to no input from the student. While the good ones will arrange for an instructor swap if there are personality conflicts in the cockpit, you might end up flying with someone you despise for weeks at a time.
• More selective: Many Part 141 schools are part of universities and likely require admissions applications. If your resume or transcripts are weak, perhaps a Part 61 school is a better option. 
• Costly if you fall behind: The stage checks integrated into the curriculum at Part 141 programs mean that if you fail a stage check, you are forced to repeat much of the training leading up to that check ride, resulting in costly additional hours in the plane. 

So while Part 141 can be cheaper if you breeze through all of the stage checks, costs begin adding up if you fall behind. That’s why it’s so important to stay engaged, especially in ground school, so that you do not waste time in the air. 

Examples of Reputable Part 141 Flight Schools

• Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University
• John D. Odefard School of Aerospace Sciences, University of North Dakota
• ATP Flight School

What Is Part 61 in Aviation?

While Part 141 flight schools offer a more institutional approach to training and are often tailored to those pilots who want to make a career of flying, Part 61 flight schools provide a more flexible option for those unable to commit to training full time or simply looking for a new (expensive) hobby. 

Any CFI can conduct Part 61 training. Part 61 flight schools are what you are likely to find at an aero club at the nearby regional airport and may consist of instructors who teach on the weekends or evenings between a regular 9 to 5 job. Don’t be fooled, though; you can find some world class instruction and huge benefits under a Part 61 training program. 

Pros:

• Greater flexibility: free of the Part 141 curriculum requirements, Part 61 instructors are free to teach however they please (though the good ones follow some sort of curriculum). This means that the student is not beholden to a set schedule, providing much more flexibility. 

For example, I conducted my training under Part 61 on the weekends while in college, and even took a two-month break for my wedding, spreading out my training over 15 months. While many would argue it’s better to fly 2-3 times a week so you stay fresh, that simply did not work for my schedule at the time. The flexibility was exactly what I needed. 

• Choice of flight instructor: Your flight instructor can be the difference between invigorating your love of flying or causing you to avoid embarking on another flight. Under Part 61, if you realize you don’t get along with or are struggling to learn from a certain flight instructor, you are totally free to switch to a new one. 

This is also important if you plan to move soon but want to start your training now. While your next instructor will likely want to review a few maneuvers to assess your skills and knowledge, you won’t be forced to start over. 

• Individualized training: Everyone learns differently. While the structure of a Part 141 curriculum is beneficial to many students, Part 61 training offers a more one-on-one approach. Because instructors do not have to follow a set syllabus, they can tailor the training (including lessons, flight time, and schedule) to your individual needs. 
• Local: If you visit your local airfield, you’re likely to find a Part 61 flight school or affiliated CFI. This means you can train locally and do not have to move across the country. 

Cons:

• Typically costs more: Private pilot requirements for Part 61 schools are slightly higher than Part 141 schools, mandating a minimum of 40 flight hours prior to the final check ride. Beyond the minimum, though, the lack of set schedule and curriculum under Part 61 can result in significantly more flight time overall to master the maneuvers, especially for when working towards your commercial and Instruments ratings. As you will quickly learn in your training, flight time equals money. 
• Requires more self-study: The best way to minimize any additional instruction is to stay in the books, especially when it comes to ground school. While some Part 61 schools offer in-person ground school, you might be on your own. Thankfully there are plenty of quality online ground school options that will prepare you well for the Private Pilot Written Test (check out ASA, Pilot Institute, Gold Seal, Angle of Attack, King School, Rod Machado). If you aren’t a self-starter, the structure of Part 141 may be better for you. 
• Less quality assurance: While Part 61 schools still need to meet safety standards from the FAA, the lack of Part 141 accreditation and oversight from a formal institution means the quality of instruction comes down to the individual flight instructors. Quality will vary. Still, it is possible to find instructors and aero clubs that take great pride in the high quality instruction they offer. Just do your due diligence.  
• Fewer resources: Part 61 operations are typically smaller operations with fewer planes and maintenance personnel. This can lead to airplane availability and scheduling issues that negate the typical flexibility of Part 61 operations. When looking into a Part 61 school, ask about the student to aircraft ratio and typical availability.  

Finding Reputable Part 61 Flight Schools

Unlike Part 141 schools located at universities and institutions around the country, you can find Part 61 flight schools at local regional airports near you. This can be a huge benefit for those who can’t uproot their lives for training. 

Look into the following points to assess how well these schools will fit your needs:

• Instructor and plane availability
• Schedule flexibility (after all, this is one of the greatest benefits of Part 61 training)
• Hourly fees for ground instruction, flight instruction, and aircraft rental
• The school’s curriculum
• Instructor motivation (if they’re simply trying to build time for airlines, for example, they may not be the best fit)
• Reputation among student pilots, length of time in business

Part 141 Vs. Part 61 Flight Schools: Factors To Consider

Cost

Knocking out your training quickly is the best way to minimize cost. Part 141 flight schools are your best option to help you progress quickly. However, if you stay disciplined, attaining your private pilot certification under a Part 61 training program can be affordable.

Training Timeline and Flexibility

For a shorter, more predictable training schedule, turn to Part 141 programs. However, Part 61 programs provide greater flexibility that may better suit your situation.

Curriculum Structure

Generally, if you did well in school under a structured curriculum or find that you need assigned study material to thrive, you will likely prefer a Part 141 flight school. A Part 61 flight school, on the other hand, can be more tailored to the individual and provides more one-on-one attention.

Quality Control

Part 141 programs adhere to strict FAA requirements and undergo periodic audits, so you can expect a baseline standard of quality. Still, their instructors are human and quality may vary. Part 61 instruction quality really comes down to the individual CFI. Asking around and even conducting an interview is good practice. After all, you are hiring them for a service. 

Training Environment

Most Part 141 schools may have better facilities and resources than a Part 61 operation, but it may vary greatly. If you are interested in Part 61, head to a few local airports and ask to tour their facilities and get briefed on their maintenance programs.

Admission Requirements

Almost anyone can enroll in Part 61 flight schools, as long as you meet certain medical and English proficiency requirements. The more popular Part 141 programs, however, may have competitive application processes for admission.

School/instructor Changes

Once you start at a Part 141 flight school, it is difficult and costly to switch. They will assign you an instructor, and it may be hard to swap. If you train under Part 61, however, you are free to shop around until you find an instructor that matches your personality and learning needs.

Funding Options

Since Part 141 schools are often attached to larger institutions and universities, they typically provide easier financing options or even scholarships. If you happen to be a veteran, you may even be able to use the GI Bill. Part 61 training is often paid for out of pocket, but if you do your research, you can find many organizations and clubs offering grants for qualified, motivated students. 

Career Paths

If your dream is to fly for a legacy airline, a Part 141 flight school will provide the structured, professional, streamlined training to get you through your private, commercial and airline transport pilot certificates quickly and more affordably than a Part 61 operation. If you simply want to fly on the weekends for that $100 hamburger, Part 61 is likely a better fit. Still, both Part 141 and Part 61 flight schools result in the same certification. 

Are Part 141 or Part 61 Schools Better for Your Needs?

There are pros and cons to both Part 61 vs Part 141 flight schools. The path you choose really comes down to your individual circumstances. 

Are you looking to jump full time into a structured program to get you from zero time to the airlines as quickly as possible? Then look to Part 141 schools. Do you require a flexible schedule and need to stay local? Then you’re probably looking at Part 61 training. Either way, rest assured that both options can provide access to high quality instructors and the same FAA pilot certifications. 

FAQ

What is the difference between Part 61 and 141 flight school?

Part 141 flight schools are more highly regulated and have more requirements (e.g. standard curriculum) than Part 61 flight schools. Because of those higher standards, students training under more structured Part 141 accredited flight schools have lower minimum hour requirements than those training under Part 61 flight schools, but they also have less flexibility in their training.

Can you become an airline pilot through Part 61?

Yes. Both Part 141 and Part 61 flight schools can help students earn their private pilot, commercial pilot, and airline transport pilot certifications. Part 141 flight schools, however, are designed to help streamline this process.

What is the hardest license to get as a pilot?

This will vary by pilot. On paper, the Airline Transport Pilot certificate requires the most experience and knowledge. Many in the industry compare this to a pilot’s doctorate and it is necessary to fly for flagged carriers (e.g. Southwest, Delta, Frontier, Skywest, etc.). However, since most pilots have a minimum 1,500 hours before they conduct an ATP check ride, they may not consider it difficult, but rather costly and tedious. The commercial pilot certificate, on the other hand, requires a higher level of understanding than a private pilot certificate for marginally more time. It really comes down to the pilot… experiences will vary. 

The post Pros and Cons: Part 141 vs. Part 61 Flight Schools appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Often referred to as the “whiskey compass,” “wet compass,” or “standby compass,” the magnetic compass is a required item per FAR 91.205 for flight in nearly every category and class of aircraft. It’s considered to be that important because being able to find your way across the surface of the Earth is crucial to the successful completion of a trip. The magnetic compass is utterly reliable because it has no power source to fail, so long as the Earth’s magnetic field endures. AHRS (attitude/heading reference system) units and spinning iron gyros need electricity or vacuum power, but the magnetic compass just sits there, on its own, wobbling in its case, giving a source of direction after all else fails.

Which is not to say our compass can’t show a false indication, but at least it’s consistently false. One only needs to understand how its error modes work, and it will still provide enough information to guide our path. It is because of these compass errors that more stable devices, such as gyroscopes or electronic instrumentation, were invented. But backing them up is the job of the magnetic compass.

No, It’s Not Whiskey

The simplicity of the compass is its virtue. That pivoting, circular “card” with numbers on it always seeks to remain fixed in space while the aircraft moves around it, aligning itself with the Earth’s lines of magnetic force that terminate at approximately the north and south poles. To dampen the jiggles experienced by everyone who has attempted to use a hand-held compass, a viscous fluid fills the chamber housing the precisely gimbaled card, usually colorless kerosene or aliphatic naphtha.

The term “whiskey compass” can be traced to the time of wooden sailing ships when alcohol was used as compass liquid because it did not freeze like water does.

Should you smell the odor of jet fuel emanating from the cockpit carpet of a piston-powered airplane, you’ll probably find that the sun-baked gasket sealing the compass has succumbed to old age. Wiping the bottom of the housing will verify your diagnosis. The compass still works but is highly unstable.

It’s not unusual to find a fluid-filled compass with a low volume of kerosene, leaving a horizon-like line of demarcation between air and fluid. It would be foolish to assume that this half-full indication can be used as an attitude reference, since centrifugal force keeps it in a level state while turning. Rather, low fluid leaves the compass card liable to tremble and spin without proper damping.

The newer vertical-card compass eliminates the liquid-filled chamber, using eddy current damping to reduce oscillations and lead-lag error. It also offers intuitive turn orientation, with a presentation similar to the steam-gauge directional gyroscope, or its electronic representation.

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Card? What Card?

No compass installation is perfect—pristine, unadorned compass correction cards notwithstanding. Along with the compass itself, there’s a certification requirement for a posted placard of corrections to be applied to its readings at 30-degree intervals. The airframe, radios, and other instruments can acquire or emit magnetic disturbance, throwing the compass’ indications off by a few degrees. An aircraft compass has correcting magnets within the case that can adjust some of these specific errors, but not all, hence the correction card that says “for [fill in blank], steer [fill in blank].” If yours is missing or not filled out, your aircraft is not legal for flight.

In your first hour of training, you were probably told to largely disregard that compass mounted on top of the panel or up in the windshield, which was placed there to remove it from interference emanating from below. You were done a great disservice. If you are flying an older aircraft with a directional gyro (DG) at the bottom of the “standard T” panel arrangement, you’ll need to reset the gyro periodically by—ta-da—the faithful old magnetic compass. A DG has no brain of its own. It merely seeks, for a while, to stay oriented with a spot it was told means north. Eventually, it will need updating.

GPS directional references are also artificial, in that they are calculated from weak, easily disrupted signals processed by a computer that needs stable power. To hug the magenta line presented by our navigator, we must fly a compass heading, so that the GPS-derived track number equals the flight plan’s course. The glass cockpit’s AHRS or ADHRS platform contains the magnetic reference needed for EFIS displays, but it’s still based on compass technology, albeit much more stable.

Why Does It Deviate?

The compass, as you learned early in ground school (and promptly forgot), is subject to a host of errors, including the aforementioned deviation in each aircraft. And because the forever-roaming magnetic poles are not located exactly where the geographic north and south poles are shown, there will be isogonic and agonic lines of variation displayed on your navigation chart with a number showing how far off the compass is pointing from true north/south. Shown with an accompanying “E” or “W” to signify east or west variation, this denotation has nothing to do with the direction in which you’re flying. Rather, it shows the degrees the compass is pointing east or west of the true pole.

To fly in the true direction, subtract an easterly variation amount from the measured true course, or add a westerly variation, which will provide the magnetic course you’ll need to steer. A final adjustment will need to be made for the deviation shown on the compass correction card.

As a rudimentary check on the health of your compass, take a look at it when lined up for takeoff. It should read within 5 degrees of the runway direction, shown by the large numbers on the pavement ahead of you (Remember, runway numbers are rounded off to the closest increment of 10 degrees). If you find it to have a larger deviation, make an appointment with your instrument repair shop for a “compass swing” to bring it back into alignment.

If the air is smooth and you’re not maneuvering the aircraft, all will be well. The compass unfailingly sits there, presenting a truncated number every 30 degrees with lines showing 5-degree increments between. Most rudimentary magnetic compasses, however, use a horizontal compass card, around which the aircraft moves, as opposed to the vertical-card presentation of a steam-gauge or electronic directional gyro. Such vertical cards show a desired course to the left or right of the present heading in the direction one naturally would turn to get there.

The old magnetic compass (unless you’ve retrofitted with a vertical-card compass) works backward. You’ll see the numbers leading in the opposite direction of the way you want to turn to get there. When using a horizontal compass card, even one in an old World War II-style directional gyro, you must remind yourself to “go left to decrease, right to increase.”

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What else can go wrong? You’ll need to ignore the compass’ acceleration/deceleration errors when on an easterly or westerly heading. A sudden slowdown will pull the compass card toward the south, while speeding up will send it slightly off to the north. Just wait until your speed stabilizes and the compass will settle down.

When turning toward a northerly or southerly heading, the magnetic compass tends to lead or lag the aircraft’s motion. Most pilots learn this as Undershoot North and Overshoot South or UNOS. As you approach true north, the compass movement slows down, showing an error while turning about the same amount as latitude. At 30 degrees north, expect a lag of 30 compass degrees. Roll out wings level, and the compass catches up just fine. If turning toward a south heading, the compass will run ahead of the aircraft by about the same amount. All of these errors reverse themselves in the Southern Hemisphere.

Needle, Ball, Airspeed
…and Compass

Partial panel flying, a form of torture imposed on check ride applicants by instrument instructors, frequently removes the attitude and directional cues provided by gyro-stabilized instruments. That leaves us with only what was once termed a “basic panel,” consisting of a turn reference (turn needle or turn coordinator), slip/skid ball, and the pitot/static instruments. The rudimentary emergency instrument flying taught for the private certificate 60 years ago used this system.

The order of priorities when flying with the basic panel was, and still is, “center the needle,” which means stop any turn by using ailerons to keep the turn indicator neutral, “center the ball” by applying rudder to put the slip/skid ball in the center, thereby avoiding inadvertent turn entry, and “adjust the airspeed” by raising or lowering the nose to reverse any trend away from level-cruise (or climb/descent) airspeed. At this point, it is safe to glance at the magnetic compass, which will indicate correctly in the absence of turn or acceleration errors.

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None of the compass’ vagaries make it an unusable instrument. You simply need to understand when and how to expect erroneous readings, and either wait for a stable indication or correct out the error. In payment for this effort, the magnetic compass will be a faithful companion, unfailing in service and dependable at all times. More than that you can’t ask.

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in the Jan/Feb 2024 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

The post Your Magnetic Compass Remains the ‘Old Reliable’ appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

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About the P-Mentor

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Ahead of us some 1,000 feet down the runway there was a bald eagle standing on the centerline, scarfing down the carcass of what looked like a large white rabbit. We brought the aircraft to a stop as the bird stopped its feeding frenzy and hopped toward us, spreading its wings and obviously saying, “Come at me, bro!” in eagle.  

We had three choices: We could try to scare the bird away by heading toward it and run over the carcass in the process, go off the runway to the side and take our chances in the grass area that needed mowing, or we could do a 180-degree turn and taxi back. I chose door number three and in taking the aircraft demonstrated the pivot turn to the learner.   

As he taxied us back to the ramp, I got on the unicom and reported that there was an eagle parked on the runway. That brought out the airport manager with his truck and big shovel. He scared off the bird by waving the tool, then picked up the remains of the white rabbit and flung it into the woods on the east side of the airport. The eagle flew after the carcass. Within 10 minutes there was a warning on the one-minute weather about wildlife in the vicinity of the airport.   

The airport manager later told me that as it was May and the carcass was that of a white domesticated rabbit and figured it was a pet Easter bunny that had been dumped. Sadly, this happens a lot and pretty much condemns the animal to death. He also noted that there is no such thing as one rabbit, suggesting the abandoned pet was pregnant when it was left and likely mixed with the wild population, resulting in more rabbits. Their presence attracts the higher predators such as coyotes and eagles—two animals you definitely don’t want to hit with an aircraft. He was right. In the following weeks, there was an uptick in coyote and eagle encounters at the airport.  

One of the most frequently asked questions is how much trouble would a pilot be in if they accidentally hit a bald eagle—or any animal for that matter. The answer is none. However, the FAA has provided us with guidance with Advisory Circular (AC) 150/5200-32B.   

According to the AC, pilots are asked to report encounters with all birds, bats, and terrestrial mammals larger than 2.2 pounds. That means if you hit a rabbit, muskrat, armadillo, fox, coyote, domestic animal, deer or something else with hooves, the FAA wants to know about it because it helps the agency create wildlife management plans to make airports safer.   

Additionally, biologists want to know about these things because it can help them track migratory patterns.  

An increase in animal activity at an airport can also be a clue that there is something else happening on the property.  

For example, when deer and elk started appearing en masse on the north end of the airport, the manager realized there was likely a hole in the fence against the tree line. There were thick trees on both sides of the fence, so getting to it involved making your way through a lot of slash and uneven terrain. But someone did it and had cut the chain-link fence intentionally.  

Based on the tire tracks that appeared to be from ATVs—and the number of hangars that were broken into—it was suggested that someone was accessing the airport to steal tools and anything else they could sell for scrap metal. 

If You Hit an Animal

The AC has instructions on how to file a report and with whom. Pilots are asked to do this when “bird or other wildlife remains, whether in whole or in part, are found: (1) Within 250 feet of a runway centerline or within 1,000 feet of a runway end unless another reason for the animal’s death is identified or suspected.”  

In addition, the FAA wants to know about it if “the presence of birds or other wildlife on or off the airport had a significant negative effect on a flight,” such as forcing the pilot to abort takeoff or the aircraft leaving the pavement to avoid a collision.   

You can report the event online at the Airport Wildlife Hazard Mitigation website or via mobile devices.

The Worst Thing to Hit

According to the AC, the animal encounters that are likely to result in the most damage are  white-tailed deer, snow goose, turkey vultures and Canada geese.   

I have encountered all of these, fortunately from a distance. Mostly we have geese in the Pacific Northwest, and airports invest a lot of time and money into methods to deter the birds from roosting there. This includes noise cannons, using an airport dog to chase them away, or having someone drive around in a golf cart to chase them away.  

There are some airports that disguise ponds on their property by filling them with black or gray plastic balls (think the ball pit at a kid’s amusement center). From the air the birds see the black and gray and assume that it is cement, not water, so they do not land.  

If you see a gaggle of geese near the runway, notify airport personnel before you take off or land. The staff will likely chase them off before you take the runway. Bonus note: If you land at an airport and see plywood dogs mounted on revolving poles in the airport grass infield, that’s a good indication they have bird issues. Birds see the faux dogs moving in the wind and avoid the area.  

Avoiding Birds

You can decrease your chances of having a bird strike by avoiding places they congregate, such as bird sanctuaries. Pay attention to the altitude restrictions noted on the VFR sectional and terminal charts, especially along coastlines.   

Most birds fly at 2,500 feet or less, so flying higher than that can mitigate your risk. Be careful with flocks of starlings and seagulls as their numbers can create serious issues if you fly through them. If you see them on the ground, don’t buzz them. They will likely launch in a panic with disastrous results.  

Unfortunately, most of our knowledge about bird strike avoidance is theoretical and anecdotal. Some pilots believe that turning on the landing light will deter birds because they will see and avoid the aircraft.  

If you see a bird approaching head-on, pull up, being careful not to stall the aircraft. The birds often dive to avoid aircraft—so do bats. But sometimes you just don’t have the time to react. I speak from experience.  

I was flying with a learner on downwind at an altitude of 1,000 feet agl when we saw a red-tailed hawk heading right for us. It had descended into the pattern, and it was going the opposite direction. It had its belly toward us, and it was flapping wildly. There was a thump, followed by a shudder in the airframe, and we felt and heard something roll over the top of the aircraft. I took the controls and gingerly tested the rudder and elevator while my learner looked outside for damage. We didn’t see any, and the landing was normal. After landing we discovered a small dent, and some blood and feathers stuck to the top wing next to the air vent.  

We had noted where the strike took place, including the altitude and our airspeed at the time of impact. This information was used to fill out the FAA Bird/Wildlife Strike Report.   

We were lucky because we were not going too fast, and the bird did not hit the windscreen. The higher the speed, the greater risk of structural damage. GA aircraft windscreens are definitely not designed to withstand bird strikes.  

The most important thing to remember if you encounter a bird strike is to fly the airplane. Pilots who have experienced bird strikes that resulted in significant damage tell stories of the aircraft “flying a little wonky” because of a big dent in the wing or tail and having trouble maintaining altitude if the windscreen is compromised.  

But they lived to tell the story. That’s what’s important.

The post Avoiding and Surviving Bird Strikes appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

After my half-hour flight lesson of three takeoffs and landings, with my childhood friends Larry Leonard and Michael Rafferty watching from alongside the grassy airstrip, I was surprised by his question. I had no idea this might be “the day” I would solo at Weiser Airpark (formerly KEYQ) outside of Houston. I don’t remember what I answered, but I think I just smiled and nodded. Up to this point, I had seven hours of flight instruction and performed a total of 42 takeoffs and landings. 

Andrews climbed out of the right seat of the Piper Cherokee, and I taxied to the end of the runway for what would be my 15-minute solo flight, performing three touch-and-go landings with Michael and Larry snapping away with a yellow Kodak disposable camera.

My main memory of the flight is that when I looked left and then right, ensuring the path was clear before making a turn, there was nobody sitting to my right in the cockpit. I was alone. Even as nervous as I was, I was also very excited.

Like a lot of teenagers growing up, I enjoyed going to airshows. At one point in the 1970s, both the Air Force Thunderbirds and the Navy Blue Angels flew the F-4 Phantom as they put on airshows throughout the country. As they performed beautiful diamond formation rolls and loops, trailing the ever-present tail of white smoke, or crossed show center cockpit-to-cockpit, I thought, “That is one bad-ass airplane.”  

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Air Force flying was in my family. My uncle, Jack Sanders, was an Air Force fighter pilot, flying the F-100 Super Sabre during the Vietnam War. He then flew the A-7 Corsair II and finally transitioned to the new A-10 Thunderbolt II tank killer. He was an A-10 squadron commander, the pinnacle of a fighter pilot’s career, before helping to set up a new squadron of A-10s at Eielson Air Force Base, Alaska, during the Cold War (no pun intended). He closed out his 30-year career as a colonel and vice commander of First Air Force in Tactical Air Command at Langley AFB, Virginia, during Operation Desert Storm in the 1990s.  

In 1979, Uncle Jack was a lieutenant colonel and A-10 squadron commander at Davis-Monthan AFB, outside of Tucson, Arizona. That spring, I was 17 years old and went to visit my Uncle Jack, Aunt Elaine, and two cousins, Christy and Tina. During that trip, I got to tour the base control tower and from a bird’s-eye view watched the fighters take off and land. One of the highlights of my visit was when Uncle Jack arranged for me to fly the A-7 simulator. I pretended to be a fighter pilot as I simulated low-altitude strafing attacks.   

I came home from that trip determined to be a fighter pilot. I started flying lessons a year earlier in June 1978 at the grass runway of Weiser Airpark (which would eventually close in 2019). I signed up for the Piper Flight School and gave the instructor $700, which he would draw from after each lesson. In hindsight, it worked to Andrews’ advantage for me to solo quickly because the quicker I soloed, the more money he kept.  

Weiser Airpark had two World War II-era AT-6 Texan trainers on the grass field. Larry and Michael enjoyed airplanes as much as I did, so I invited them along for my seventh lesson—and that’s when I soloed. After landing for the third and final time, I climbed out of the Piper Archer and took part in the ritual of having my shirttail (tail feathers) cut off. The only problem was that I was wearing my sister’s favorite surfer T-shirt, a cool red one with an ocean wave on the front. Oops.   

My name, the time, and date of the flight, July 24, 1978, were written in black Marks-A-Lot on the cutoff portion of the shirt and tacked to the wall of the flight school. I have no memory of what happened next. I guess my brain was so focused on the momentous solo flight. Larry and Michael tell me that Andrews then offered for them to join us on one more flight. The four of us, Andrews included, took off once again around the pattern with me at the controls.  

The rest of my flight lessons took place at La Porte Municipal Airport (T41) in Pasadena, Texas, located near the oil refineries along the ship channel east of Houston. We called this area “Stinkadena,” because of the foul oil aroma, referred to in the Lone Star State as the smell of money. I worked as a busboy and cook at The Mason Jar Restaurant near my house on the west side of Houston to pay for my flying lessons. In addition, I joined the Aviation Explorers Post, a coed branch of Boy Scouts that focused on aviation.

My flight instructor for Aviation Explorers was Richard Lovell. He was the owner of a beautiful 180 hp 1973 Piper Challenger, a white four-seater with a black-and-gray stripe down the side. Lovell served in the Navy during the Korean War but not as a pilot, and he didn’t deploy overseas. He laughed about earning the National Defense Service Medal for never going anywhere. He was a short, tough old man—a Navy boxing champ with a permanently crooked nose to prove it. Day in and day out, he dipped Copenhagen and swallowed it. During flying lessons over the Texas Gulf Coast, as he gave me instructions, he’d suddenly let out a burp, filling the cockpit with the smell of the snuff. To this day, my Pavlovian response is to equate the smell of dipping tobacco with a Piper four-seater.  

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I owe Lovell a lot. He was demanding, telling me to “fight for centerline” when landing in a crosswind. As tough as he was, he was also very kind. Lovell donated his instructor time for free, as a way of giving back to the Scouts program. My flight lessons from 1978 to 1980 started at $22 an hour and eventually rose to $25. This came at a time of high inflation, when certificates of deposits earned 13 percent, and I was making around $3 an hour at the restaurant.

The hour-long lessons, flown near the Houston Ship Channel, consisted of air work, flying 360-degree turns, keeping my wingtip pointed at a blue, lollipop-shaped water tower below while adjusting for the wind changes, or making a series of S-turns over a railroad track. These exercises taught me to take the varying winds into account.

Stalling an airplane can be a pilot’s nightmare—even in practice. To build my confidence,  Lovell demonstrated his Piper’s ability to handle a stall. Reducing the throttle to idle, pulling the yoke back to his chest, this Copenhagen-dipping instructor proceeded to illustrate the magical gift of his aircraft. As I watched the airspeed bleed off, the stall warning light and buzzer distracting my attention, I noticed his hands suddenly release the straining yoke of the shuddering airplane. My heart and stomach raced each other for my throat as the airplane transferred from 30 degrees nose high into a steep dive.

“Crap!” I exclaimed as I looked down on the offshore drilling rig growing larger in front of the propeller. Without touching the controls, the airspeed increased and the trusty Cherokee slowly pitched up and down, finally settling at the original level-flight attitude. This breathtaking demonstration of aerodynamic stability allowed me to confidently rehearse stall recoveries on my own.

Thanks to Lovell’s instruction, encouragement, and generosity, I was ready for my private check ride on August 20, 1980. I spent that afternoon with a renowned FAA-designated evaluator, Maybelle Fletcher, who was a fixture in the Houston aviation community. At the time, she and her husband operated Fletcher Aviation at Hobby Airport (KHOU) south of downtown Houston. This nerve-wracking day began when I flew solo from quiet, tiny La Porte airport into busy Hobby. An 18-year-old kid in a small, single-engine propeller plane had to fly into a big-city airport, sequenced between Learjets and brightly colored Braniff Airways 727s.

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With that behind me, I then underwent Fletcher’s oral ground evaluation. Finally, we flew a one-hour flight to an outlying airport for three touch-and-go landings. With my check ride complete, I was now a certificated private pilot just one week from starting college at the University of Texas at Austin.

It had been an exciting day, but I still needed to fly back to La Porte. It was 4 p.m. by the time I was debriefed and congratulated by Fletcher. I sat in my small plane near the end of the Hobby runway, waiting for my turn to take off. But this was “rush hour,” and streams of Learjets and airliners continued to land.   

Just before being cleared for takeoff, the Piper’s engine began to sputter. It had a left and right fuel tank, one in each wing, with a fuel selector by my left knee. Since most of my flying lessons lasted just one hour, switching fuel tanks was rarely required. On this day, however, the engine had already been running for nearly three hours, and the left fuel tank was almost dry.

Distracted by the excitement of passing my check ride and impatiently watching the landing jets, I forgot to switch fuel tanks. I quickly threw the selector to the right wing tank, and the engine continued running. Fortunately, I had not been cleared for takeoff a minute sooner or the engine would have quit during takeoff. That would have been a very short aviation career. 

—From the aviation memoir ‘Ready For Takeoff: Stories from an Air Force Pilot’

Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the November/December 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

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That said, you have lots of opportunities for making “first solo” flights, including ones taken not by choice but by necessity. Some are the ones we make in single-seat airplanes. Taking off in an airplane with no way to “get some dual,” or even to ride along to observe, is an awesome experience. It can not be undertaken without preparation, because you have to get it right the first time. Once you’re in the air, there’s no way to get help.

I well remember my first experience in this regard. The airplane was a Stits Playboy, a sporty low-wing homebuilt with an O-290 Lycoming up front. Before I took off, the previous pilot leaned over the side of the canopied cockpit and pointed out the relevant controls and switches, told me a safe speed to use on final, and turned me loose to learn on my own. I had plenty of experience with control sticks and tailwheels, so I just filled in the new blanks presented by the little Stits.

• READ MORE: Are Touch-and-Goes Good Practice?

During World War II the 200-hour wonders who strapped themselves into single-seat fighters were prepared about as well as they could be. They were products of a system that saw them begin with plenty of dual in tandem primary trainers, followed by advancing into more powerful basic trainers and then progressing into challenging advanced trainers. All of these machines had the student sitting in the center of a cockpit set up for one person, with a joystick in the right hand and throttle in the left, a tailwheel rolling along behind. The one-seat P-40s they eventually flew on their own were just more of the same.

Key to the process was adherence to procedures, worked out to minimize hazardous unknowns, and lots of study and classroom work, so the transitioning pilots would thoroughly understand the progressively more complex systems they were tackling. Experienced individuals would stand on the wingwalk and work the novices through their checklists until it became second nature, perhaps even blindfolded to prove they could find the required items quickly.

Getting as Close as You Can

As I flew other single-seat airplanes, I always tried to avail myself of as much knowledge as I could in advance by reading the flight manual and limitations, asking questions of my predecessors, and just sitting in the cockpit to become familiar with the setup. Sometimes it’s possible to get time in a similar two-seat airplane, which is how I approached the Cessna AGwagon spray plane. The Cessna 185 is a close approximation, and even though I had considerable previous time in Cessna 180s and 170s, I first went up in the Skywagon with an ag pilot for a little review.

Most spray planes have familial resemblance to two-place siblings, like Piper’s Pawnee and the Super Cub. On the other hand, Dean Wilson’s long-winged Eagle ag plane had no two-seat approximation, but I had flown other biplanes and had no problem adjusting to its size and seating. The DW-1 was built to be work-all-day friendly, so it held no surprises other than the spoiler-assisted method of making tight turnarounds.

The ultimate in getting prepared was being checked out in the Bede BD-5 homebuilt. The Bede folks had a “Truck-a-Plane” engineless BD-5 at the factory, rigged up on an articulated frame attached to the front of a hot rod pickup truck. Pushed down the runway in it at flying speed, one could practice liftoffs and touchdowns, and feel out the ailerons and rudder response. To learn how the landing gear operated, they just picked up a BD-5 and sat it on sawhorses shoved under the wings. You could then climb aboard and find out how to work the gear lever without jiggling the joystick in your other hand.

The point is, if you’re compelled to fly a single-seater, get as much knowledge as possible and work up to it through flying dual in similar aircraft. Of the couple of dozen one-holers I’ve flown, all were approached with careful progression through close approximations.

Solo Without a Checkout

In a similar vein, there may be times when you will be called upon to fly an aircraft with multiple seats but without the benefit of a formal checkout flight. That can be about as much of a “solo flight” as those single-seat experiences. As a ferry pilot, a lot of the planes I’ve picked up were simply left sitting in a hangar or tie-down, waiting for me to deliver it elsewhere. One quickly learns to rely on nothing in the way of installed equipment, despite assurances that “it’s ready to go.” In the first hour or two of the trip, you verify what you have and don’t have.

I once was engaged to ferry an aged Cessna 170A, and I soon learned it had no generator output. Eager to get it home, I obtained a NAPA battery charger and plugged it in at every fuel stop, juicing up the battery so I would have a starter and radios for the departure. In the middle of my final leg, I finally found a hidden unmarked switch under the dash that, when actuated, turned on the generator. Lesson learned.

Labels, even when installed, don’t always mean what they say. Tasked with taking an imported German motor glider out to the West Coast, I received a telephone checkout from the pilot who had brought it partway, mostly describing the quirks of its VW-based Limbach engine and three-position propeller pitch. When I tried to start it, the engine refused to fire. It turned out the fuel cock said “auf” when the gas was on, which turned out to be German for “on.” The label was correct—it was the pilot who was deficient.

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When alone in the cockpit, it is doubly important to take every precaution to learn how to operate the systems because your only resource is what you bring to the party. Never assume “it’s just another airplane.” That may be true, but operating characteristics vary from one model to another. Late one afternoon, I arrived via a delayed airline flight to pick up a Piper Arrow that needed to be repositioned across the state. I had planned on being home well before sundown, but by the time I was finally deposited onto the Arrow’s ramp, the day was far advanced. With no RON (remain overnight) kit or flashlight, I fired up in the waning twilight and blasted off. Once underway, it occurred to me I really needed to turn on the panel lights, and none of my fumbling with the switch panel found success. Cell phone flashlights hadn’t been invented yet.

Finally, I recalled the stylish panel of 1970s-era Pipers utilized rolling rheostat switches beside the rocker switches, one of which turns on the instrument lighting. Panic subsided when I brought the darkened cockpit to well-lit life. The issue was my mission-focused urgency to get into the air without taking time to review the flight manual’s operating details of an airplane type I hadn’t flown in years.

Whether flying in a single-seat aircraft or alone in a multiseat cockpit, the responsibility of being pilot in command is the same. You are making a solo flight, and it’s up to you to do all the CRM (crew resource management) required to assure safety of the flight. Free of the distraction posed by having company, you should be able to do an even better job of single-pilot CRM. Instead, we often take the freedom of flying solo as a chance to ignore our duties.

There’s Always a First Time

There will be many first solo flights in your career beyond that one at the beginning of your life as a pilot. It may be the first time you climb into a cloud deck after attaining your instrument rating or the first time you bring up the landing gear of a retractable-gear airplane. Pushing the throttles of a twin-engine airplane forward on takeoff for the first time as the captain is never to be forgotten. Doing your first aileron roll or loop with no aerobatic instructor on board is a satisfying first solo as well. I will never forget that first tow release when being turned loose to fly solo in the club’s glider. Getting it back to the gliderport after hunting lift was now my responsibility entirely. Docking a seaplane on my own, without banging a float or missing the right spot to cut the engine, was another first that went into the favorite memory storehouse.

The point is, there will be plenty of first solos for us to remember as we pursue our aviation dreams. Treasure them all—big and small. 

Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the November/December 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

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Pilots understand that adherence to professional standards is nowhere more critical than during approach to the airport and landing. Fighter pilots instinctively understand this. When they return to the airfield or aircraft carrier, the formation gets a little tighter and the radio calls are more concise.

They follow the rules partly because they understand the cost of making a mistake is high, and they know everyone is watching.

The Super Bowl of traffic pattern operations is Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport (KATL) during rush hour. Hundreds of flights coordinated into an aerial ballet, a series of machine-gun-like radio instructions, carrying thousands of passengers safely to their terminal just in time so they can run and catch their next flight. Achieving this level of safety and efficiency requires everyone to adhere to a strict code of behavior. However, the same may not always be said of the traffic pattern at your local towered or especially nontowered airport.

So why do we care about traffic pattern discipline so much? According to the FAA’s Airplane Flying Handbook (AFH), the vast majority of midair collisions occur in good visibility between aircraft going in the same direction, near uncontrolled airports, and at altitudes below 1,000 feet. Sounds like Saturday afternoon in the touch-and-go pattern. Maybe it is worth a few minutes to review the basics of traffic pattern requirements, midair collision avoidance, and proper pattern etiquette.

High Wings, Low Wings, and the Standard Traffic Pattern

The “Friendly Aviation Administration” is sufficiently concerned about traffic pattern etiquette to have just released an update to Advisory Circular 90-66C, “Non-Towered Airport Flight Operations.” However, this updated AC, the AFH, and Pilot’s Handbook of Aeronautical Knowledge (PHAK) are all quick to point out that the FAA does not regulate traffic pattern entry—only the traffic flow pattern. Thus, all traffic at a nontowered airport is expected to blend into the existing left traffic pattern unless right traffic is specified on the sectional chart or the chart supplement.

However, if we look carefully at the recommended box-shaped general aviation traffic pattern with its series of straight and level legs connected by brief 45- and 90-degree turns, it is designed to nearly eliminate the blind spots associated with both high- and low-wing aircraft. The 45-degree entry leg allows for aircraft entering and those in the pattern to see each other out the side windows while still in level flight. The level downwind and base legs, each separated by 90-degree turns, perform the same function. We might ask, why does the FAA recommend traffic on the crosswind leg turn onto downwind after reaching pattern altitude? Once again, it reduces the risk associated with the high-wing/low-wing blind spot.

Nonstandard Patterns, Blind Spots, and Belly Checks

So, what happens when things do not go strictly to plan? A couple of recent accidents come to mind.

On May 12, 2021, a Cirrus SR22 at Centennial Airport (KAPA) in the Denver suburb of Englewood, Colorado, made what may have been a nearly constant base turn at higher-than-normal pattern speed and literally flew right through the rear upper fuselage of a Fairchild Metroliner on a straight-in approach. Thankfully, the Metroliner landed on the runway, and the Cirrus parachute saved the day for the single.

Then, on July 17, 2022, there was an accident involving a Piper Malibu and a Cessna 172 both operating at North Las Vegas Airport (KVGT). The towered airport has parallel runways: 12R/30L and 12L/30R. The Piper Malibu was making a teardrop-shaped constant left turn to final from midfield, was assigned Runway 30L but appeared to line up on Runway 30R and collided with a Cessna 172 making a right base to final turn to the same runway. All four occupants of the Cessna and Piper were killed. These two accidents highlight a significant visibility limitation inherent in every aircraft. Once we have accounted for the high/low-wing visibility limitation, the remaining blind spot is the belly of our own plane.

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Our fighter pilot friends can’t see through the floor of their jets either. OK, so the F-35 with its $400,000 pilot helmet actually can, but that’s another story. When a fighter pilot executes a quick descent or a sustained steep turn, a quick roll to the left or right, often called a belly check, allows them to clear this primary blind spot. Fly the pattern too fast, fail to roll out on the base leg, or fly a nonstandard curvilinear turn to the final approach, and you increase your risk of being belly up to other traffic. Follow the recommended pattern etiquette, and you dramatically reduce the chance of a collision.

Another example of mixing curved and box patterns is the overhead pattern. This approach, often used by warbirds, especially in formation, consists of an initial leg at pattern altitude, followed by a 180-degree “pitch out” to the downwind and another 180-degree turn to final. This military pattern is a great method to get fast airplanes, especially in formation, slowed down, separated, and on the ground quickly, notably at a towered airport where the traffic flow can be managed. However, at a nontowered airport it places the airplane turning downwind from the overhead pattern belly up to anyone joining the downwind from the 45-degree leg. The same thing occurs with the curvilinear turn to final.

The moral of the story is that mixing curvilinear and box patterns creates belly blind spots that the designers of the recommended nontowered airport traffic pattern can’t help you with.

The Crosswind Entry Option

Gather any 10 pilots together and ask about the best method for entering the downwind leg crosswind from midfield and watch the arguments begin. The option preferred by the FAA involves crossing the airport at midfield 500 feet above pattern altitude and then making a constant turning descent to join the 45-degree leg to downwind (see AFH Chapter 8, fig. 8-3). This approach makes it easier to blend into traffic.

However, the constant descending turn to the 45-degree entry leg places the pilot belly up to aircraft entering on the 45-degree entry. Sounds like a belly check is in order. The other alternative involves entering a midfield crosswind leg at pattern altitude and then joining the downwind. The plus is that all the traffic is in the pilot’s front and side windows before the turn. The downside is that two aircraft, one turning downwind from the crosswind leg and another on the 45-degree entry, are belly up to each other. Whichever you choose, it is good to understand the plus and minuses of each, and the need to check your belly blind spot for traffic.

Proper Communication Etiquette

There is no requirement to make radio calls in the pattern at a nontowered airport. In fact, NORDO (no radio) airplanes are welcome. Having said that, our friends at the FAA remind us that concise and accurate “self-announcement” is the proper etiquette. The term self-announcement is a reminder that each transmission should announce your position and intentions so that others in the pattern can plan accordingly. The updated advisory circular goes to great pains to drive home a couple of salient points.

First, radio calls should include the type of aircraft and the N-number. Recently, I have noticed pilots substituting the color and type of aircraft for the N-number. I fly at a busy feeder airport that serves at least five flight schools. So, when a pilot transmits “blue-and-white Cessna turning base,” I casually look out the window and note that there are at least five Cessnas that fit that description in the pattern.

Second, the FAA reminds us that the phrase “any traffic in the area, please advise” is a nonstarter. I believe the point it is trying to make is that traffic pattern radio calls are not a conversation. Rather, each “self-announcement,” starting at 8 to 10 miles out and ending when we clear the runway, is for the benefit of the entire pattern to provide a safe environment.

Start Planning Early

Hey, I seem to remember that my CFI asked me to start planning my arrival before takeoff, not 10 miles out! Hmm, I thought the traffic patterns here are all left hand, right? Not so fast. If the letters “RP” are listed below the runway length and elevation on the sectional, then a glance through the chart supplement will reveal right-hand traffic prevails on one or more runways. Preflight is also a great time to catch up on possible noise restrictions, NOTAMs, special instructions, and nearby transmission towers.

I am also an advocate for spending the extra bucks to get ADS-B In as well as ADS-B Out. Having the airport traffic pattern picture on a portable iPad while still 10 miles out is priceless. I tend to use the traffic information to correlate the N-numbers I hear on the radio (no aircraft colors or paint schemes please) with traffic locations. All the while I remember that ADS-B of any kind is not required at Class D or nontowered airports. Once established on the 45 to downwind, your Mark One Eyeballs are the best collision avoidance devices. I transition to 100 percent out the window, but the aural traffic alarm provided by the ADS-B In receiver is good insurance while scanning outside for conflicting traffic.

Keeping the Tower Crew Happy 

What might the tower crews want us to remember? First, some smaller towers have radar and some do not. In either case, it is important to keep your patterns close in and avoid the dreaded “bomber pattern.” What the tower cannot see, it cannot control. Second, at a busy training airport, be ready to go when you call the tower. If given a clearance for an “immediate takeoff, no delay,” the tower expects your wheels to start turning right away. This is not the time to start the pretakeoff checklist. If you are not ready to go, just say so and stay put. Third, keep your radio transmissions informative and brief. If you have a question, please be sure to ask, but beware of the long-drawn-out soliloquies that block the frequency. Fourth, if cleared to land number three, make sure to visually identify both number one and number two. Failure to do so may result in one of those high-wing/low-wing close encounters, or worse, on final approach. Finally, just like at a nontowered airport, be on your guard at all times for traffic. Good traffic pattern etiquette requires teamwork between the tower and pilots.

Be Safe Out There

Greasing on the perfect landing (are we down yet?) is one of the most satisfying parts of flying. Our behavior in the traffic pattern is a reflection of just how professional we are. Just like the jet jocks who clean up their act as they approach the airport traffic pattern, we all have a responsibility to be prepared, know the rules and recommendations, and execute the proper traffic pattern etiquette. Midair collision avoidance is a team sport that requires each of us to know where to be and what to do once we get there. Fly safe!

Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the October 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

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Is it really all that bad? Are most flight instructors wet behind the ears, riding with student pilots to build hours on a fast track to an airline seat?

Are we truly in a cycle of the blind leading the blind, staffed by beginner CFIs now training students after they were themselves taught by young instructors with limited experience? 

I don’t necessarily agree with all the woe-is-us, doom-and-gloom assessments. I started teaching primary flying when I’d been a pilot for only a bit over four years. In that time, I’d accumulated a few hundred hours of flying time, made some venturesome trips, flown a dozen different planes and picked up some wisdom from older aviators. I knew quite a bit more than the ab initio beginners I introduced to flying, and I was willing to share it with them. I think I did a decent job.

It’s unfair to apply a coat of tar to all young CFIs with the broad brush of exalted experience. The fact is, their youth, in the sense of only recently becoming rated, can bequeath certain advantages. Such an instructor can still remember what it was like to enter a cockpit filled with unfamiliar gadgetry titled by strange names, and how fear and physical discomfort sometimes interfered with the wonderment of flight. Such empathy lends itself to reassuring “I know what you’re thinking” conversations.

The just-trained CFI is more likely to be up to date on the latest procedures and requirements, having just taken several check rides in recent memory. Compared with an old set-in-his-ways senior instructor,  that youngster is more likely to know how it’s supposed to be done. Without the hampering of irrelevant experience, such a fresh-face instructor can focus on the way things have to be done today.

Certainly, it’s highly worthwhile to have an experienced instructor evaluate the tyro CFI’s product now and then. That doesn’t mean all the training done by less-experienced CFIs is of lesser quality; a second opinion simply reinforces those hours. After all, to teach, I was once told, the teacher just has to be one chapter ahead of the student.

The important ingredient that’s often missing in today’s mixture is a desire by the CFI to do the best job they can, while they have that opportunity to instill knowledge. If their main motivation is to watch the hour-meter click over, advancing their hire-ability, there will indeed be nothing but box-checking accomplished. Throughout my several careers, I’ve always tried to be the best I could be at whatever I was hired to do, even if that was nothing more than showing up on time. As a CFI, I wanted to advance each student’s knowledge to match my own, sharing what I already knew.

So, if the young CFI has a sincere desire to help someone achieve their dream of flight, and is willing to learn from older instructors and pilots, he or she will produce as good a pilot graduate as an older CFI. It’s not fair to write them off as incompetent just because haven’t logged the first thousand hours.

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