Not to worry!

Curiously, this intrepid pilot did not have such a briefing nor did he contact DUATS.  Could it be that he feared hearing the words, "VFR flight not recommended?"

Then again, perhaps this was not your typical pilot.  The fact that he departed 241 pounds over maximum allowable gross weight with a CG location 2.57 inches aft of the rear limit might shed some light on his temperament.

Pressure to go . . .

Let's consider the pressure this pilot was facing.  He was one of four firemen from the same company, all with the same day off.  This likely required a good bit of coordination to make happen.

Next, we have a plane load of professional risk-takers.  The testosterone was likely dripping out the tailpipe as this overloaded Bonanza taxied to the runway.  Even if the pilot exercised good judgment and suggested they wait a few hours for the weather to improve, his passengers possibly over-ruled him.   Hey, what's a guy supposed to do?

Of course, this is pure speculation, but the circumstances strongly suggest that this pilot was under a great deal of pressure to launch.

So what happened?

According to the radar track, the airplane took off and made a circling climb over the airport to 2,500' MSL.  Its turn tightened along with a loss of 500 feet of altitude.   It made one more descending 360 degree turn before impacting terrain about 3 miles west of the airport.

The NTSB Probable Cause Finding: The National Transportation Safety Board determines the probable cause(s) of this accident as follows: "The pilot's intentional flight into known instrument meteorological conditions in hilly terrain and his failure to maintain aircraft control due to spatial disorientation. Factors were the pilot's inadequate evaluation of the weather conditions, dark night conditions and the poor weather conditions."

All four persons died in the crash.

It is easy for us to "Monday morning quarterback" this accident.  We can quickly conclude why this tragic accident occurred, but what we cannot observe is the conversation that took place among these four victims as they climbed into the airplane.

Perhaps the pilot caught a glimpse of the moon or rising sun through a break in the clouds.  Maybe he could see the tops of the surrounding ridges through the haze.  Tragically, whatever visibility he had as he rolled down the runway was lost shortly after takeoff.

Did he have a back door?

There are precious few circumstances where airplanes operate in conditions without a backdoor to escape through should something go wrong.  What was this guy's backdoor? 

The airport was surrounded by terrain rising upwards to 3,000' above the airport.  It was dark, with low ceilings and poor visibility.  He had no instrument rating.  His airplane was being operated over-gross and outside its CG limits.

Reading about stress in the cockpit and actually hearing pilots with real in-flight emergencies are two different things.  How would we react if we lost control of a Cessna Caravan in icing conditions?  What if our Lear suddenly encountered severe icing rendering its control surfaces useless?

CNY Aviation.com assembled several dramatic recordings of actual pilot/ATC communications of the above REAL in-flight emergencies. 

As difficult as it to imagine, frost as thin as medium to coarse sandpaper is sufficient to interrupt the smooth laminar flow of lift-producing air over the wing. 

Instead of following the curved upper surface of the wing, the frost produces a prematurely early separation of the air flow above the wing.

This early air separation is precisely what takes place during a stall.

The 2006 Nall Report is out and the results are not surprising to regular OTA readers.  The 2005 GA fatal accident rate increased by 10.3 percent over 2004 .  This continues the steadily worsening fatal accident rate trend that began in 1999 (source).

Air Safety Foundation chief, Bruce Landsberg, is quoted in this report by saying, "While the sky certainly isn’t falling, the record could stand some improvement."  In reality, this jump in the fatal accident rate is far more than a "minor detour," as the 2006 Nall Report suggests.  Instead, it is a major turn in the highway. 

The Air Safety Foundation is apparently not alarmed by this worsening six-year fatal accident trend. 

Should we pilots in the field be alarmed?

The big question is, of course, why is this six-year fatal accident rate increasing?  Looking back to 1999, where we observed the beginning of this worsening fatal accident rate, we also observed the emergence of new generations of technology, from glass panel cockpits, to ballistic recovery chutes, to sleek, glass composite aircraft. 

Perhaps too much of this technology is being acquired by pilots with more money than aeronautical ability.

During this period, we also observed the effects of a reduction in pilot currency requirements.  FAR 61.57, for example, no longer requires six hours of actual or simulated instrument flight to maintain one's IFR currency. 

We pilots also continue to be encouraged by falsely positive messages from our big membership organizations that we pilots are "good and getting better."   Yes, our raw number of fatal wrecks is down, but so are our total flying hours.  The numbers are down, but our RATES are up!

Much of this, of course, has been covered in earlier OTA issues.  The point is, we are not good and getting better.  

As our accident rate continues to climb, our insurance rates quickly approach unaffordable levels.  Some owners of Columbia 400s and Cirrus SR22s are now paying in excess of $12,000 in annual insurance premiums, and this number is expected to jump to $40,000 for the privilege of owning a VLJ (very light jet).

In summary, our fatal accident rate has climbed steadily since 1999.   The sooner we recognize this sad fact, the sooner we can begin doing something about it.

Managing Stress in the Cockpit

Stress is a curious phenomenon.  During levels of low to moderate stage, we tend to perform better.  Beyond that, however, we can quickly turn into blobs of protoplasm, unable to tie our shoes!

The ill effects of stress when they occur on the ground are bad enough.  When these ill effects occur while we are at the controls of an airplane, stress can kill us.  Stress, in fact, is one major causal factor in the 4 out out every 5 fatal accidents that are officially attributable to pilot error.

A quick reference to the chart below reveals that our performance actually improves while experiencing increasing levels of stress, but up to a point.  Beyond that point, our performance drops precipitously.

Imagine an instrument approach to minimums or a VFR landing in 32 knot gusty crosswinds.  Feelings of anxiety or stress can be a good thing.  We rise to the challenge.   Our concentration is focused on flying the airplane.  We sense every movement, every heading and altitude change.   We become masters of our airplane while beads of perspiration gently roll down our foreheads.

All is NOT good, however!

Not experiencing stress in the above example can be a bad thing, because it can lead to complacency.  I recall flying a localizer to minimums one nasty wintry evening to the Olean, NY Airport.    This had been one of many instrument landings to minimums I had made earlier that week.  

Rolling out on the runway, I noticed that my hands were dry.  Normally I, like most instrument pilots, experience stress-induced clammy hands and fingers whenever going down to minimums, particularly on a non-precision approach.  By this time in the week, I had grown too comfortable, too complacent.   I lost my edge. 

I reported this experience to my pilot mentor, Louie Nalbone, a CFII/DPE who heads up Dunkirk Aviation Sales and Services, Inc. in Dunkirk, NY. 

"That's bad, Bob," he said.  "You've got to experience enough stress in airplanes to keep you on your toes, particularly when on the gauges," he added.  I never forgot Louie's wise words!

But what is too much stress??

If a little bit of stress is good for performance, what about having too much stress? 

The problem of too much stress occurs when something unusual begins to happen.  Let's say we are flying along at night in instrument conditions.  Unexpected headwinds have put us into a low fuel situation. 

As we descend on the approach, a sudden encounter with unforecasted/unreported moderate to severe icing.  The noise of frozen precipitation striking and sticking to our airframe and wings grabs our attention.

Our heart rate increases.  Our stomachs begin to feel queasy.  We begin to sweat.  

Whoa . . . what's happening.  RPM (or manifold pressure) suddenly drops.  The engine begins "chugging."   Our stress level zooms!  Our brain is instantly frozen in time.  We press the mike button and issue a frantic call. 

"What is the nature of your problem," comes a calm, reassuring voice from the controller?

"Ahhh, I have, I have a problem.  I'm losing my engine;  I have ice, lots it.  I'm turning.  Help me," comes our reply!

What happened?

What happened is simple.   The increased stress we experienced as a result of a sudden encounter with icing conditions effectively blocked our proper response to the engine "chugging."  Momentary induction icing started us down the road of mental inefficiency.   Thus, the simple task of lowering the gear in preparation for landing was totally forgotten!

The chart below illustrates how even modest levels of stress can influence our response to urgent situations like this.

The solution to managing stress in the cockpit begins with proper instruction.  Our flight instructor should be like a personal fitness coach working with us in the gym.  He or she gently presses us into ever-increasing levels of stress-inducing exercises.  Like the fitness coach, an effective CFI introduces real life, stress-inducing scenarios early and throughout the training process.  

The practice of inducing stress in the cockpit continues with the pursuit of each additional rating or certificate.   Airline pilots, for example, routinely anticipate stress-inducing scenarios each time they go into the "box" (Level D flight simulator).

Ultimately the goal of every proficient pilot is to experience, in a simulated or controlled training environment, every possible emergency that could beset him or her aloft.  Thus, when the real thing happens, he's prepared!

It's in the checklist, stupid!

The second thing we can do to mitigate the effects of stress is to develop checklist discipline.  Learn to pull the checklist whenever unusual situations occur.  Chances are, we will find something there that will assist us in resolving the problem.

In summary, a little bit of stress is good.  Excessive stress can be very bad.  As pilots, we need to recognize when the subtle effects begin to take hold.  We need to understand that the outward symptoms of stress may surface as overcompensation, denial, suspicion, paranoia, agitation, restlessness, defensiveness, excess sensitivity to criticism, argumentativeness, arrogance, and hostility. 

Stress can also manifest itself in feelings of depression, preoccupation, sadness, and withdrawal.

Frequent OTA readers know that I have little regard for the Practical Test Standards (PTS).  Sure, as in all skilled endeavors, we require some objective basis from which to determine if a test-taker passes or fails a performance-based examination.   From this perspective, the PTS works as intended.

But aviation is far more than a skilled endeavor.  Glass blowing, watch-making, and figure skating are skilled endeavors.  Flying, on the other hand, involves a little bit of skill and a whole lot of judgment.

It is the judgment part that the PTS falls far short of what it was really intended to do.  This sad but true fact is affirmed in nearly every NTSB fatal accident report.

But don't we need skills to fly safely?

If we equate learning to fly with human growth and development, we have most of the piloting skills we will ever need by age five!  As most kindergarten children are able to speak in their native language, most student pilots can take off, cruise, and land in 8 to 10 hours of instruction with little or no outside intervention.  

With few exceptions, it is not the skill part that hurts us in airplanes.  Instead, it is the decision we make regarding our fitness for a particular flight profile.  Flight instructors, for example, make a fitness assessment regarding their students just before signing them off for solo flight. 

The CFI picks a picture-perfect weather day, then he or she sends the fledgling aviator aloft alone with just enough skills to return the airplane to earth in a condition that it can be used again.  A little later on, the same CFI makes another fitness assessment before sending his student to the designated pilot examiner (DPE).

Ultimately, the DPE makes a fitness assessment before granting the intrepid pilot a private pilot certificate or instrument ticket. 

So far, so good.  Hopefully a series of correct and accurate fitness assessments led to the creation of a new pilot.

It makes no difference what the rating or certificate level is.  Private, instrument, commercial, multi-engine, CFI, CFI-I, or ATP.  Each checkride is a fitness assessment made by somebody other than the candidate pilot. 

Who makes the fitness assessments AFTER the checkride?

Suddenly, the pilot is on his own.  He has the requisite skills to satisfy the PTS for whatever rating or certificate he is pursuing.  Beyond that, he is like a kindergarten child setting off to walk home from school for the first time all by himself.  Will he make it home safely, day after day?

Armed with a new pilot certificate or new rating in our pocket, we pilots are suddenly on our own to exercise our new privileges.  What happens next?

Free of the safety net provided by his or her instructor, the pilot must now rely on something with which he is not comfortable.  He has to determine his own level of fitness to launch on a particular day. 

He's now all alone to determine if he can safely climb through a turbulent cloud layer.  He wonders if he can safely take command of an airliner with 220 passengers in the back all wanting to be home for Christmas.

Notice that skills have little to do with this self-assessment process.  The certificate or type rating in his pocket affirms that he has the requisite skills.  It is only his judgment that counts at this point!

We acquired the skills but it is judgment that determines our level of proficiency!

Unfortunately, we have no neat little measures of pilot judgment or  proficiency.  Instead, these attributes simply reveal themselves in our actions as we grow older as pilots.

Some of us will stick our pilot certificate in our pockets and seldom use it ever again.  Others will be content to make a couple of flights a year around the pattern.  Many will purchase an airplane and take maximum advantage of the traveling wonders that await them.  Others will earn a comfortable living as professional pilots.

The reality of all of this is that some will aggressively pursue recurrent and advanced flight training and become proficient pilots.  Others will not.  Instead, they will maintain the bare minimum requirements to remain legal. 

Curiously, nobody but the pilot will know which category he or she belongs.  There are no outward measures, no certificate endorsements, nor stripes on the sleeve to tell who is proficient or not.  Only the pilot, himself, will know for sure!

Don't believe this?  Read the daily NTSB fatal accident reports!

 
Bob Miller, ATP, CFII
Buffalo, NY
rjma@rjma.com
716-864-8100