Low Point

Two months ago, when I had barely wet my feet into the world of aviation, I had a conversation with my CFI regarding just how difficult the journey from zero to hero would be. One of the first kernals of wisdom he dispensed was this: 'During instrument training, you'll want to pull your hair out, it's that bad.' Turns out, the CFI was only half right. I want to do more than that. I'd prefer to douse myself in jet fuel while standing underneath a space shuttle launch. That's how I feel most days. I'm spending preposterous amounts of time staring at manuals and computer screens all in hopes of solving asinine questions such as:

What is the MCA at SABAT intersection when eastbound from DBS VORTAC on V298?

A few weeks ago, asking me that question would have been like asking Chef Boyardee for an oil change. Aside from learning how to decode the above hieroglyphics, it seems like my progression has been on vacation for the past week. For the first time, I am really struggling. Not with attitude, desire, or work ethic, but in the one area that proves to be the most baffling: performance. I am simply not picking the nuances of instrument flying as quickly as I'd like, or expected. While the CFI has been remarkably patient, I am still waiting for the breakthrough that everyone keeps saying will inevitably happen. The CFI's all say that the instrument phase is crazy and sometimes it takes awhile for the light bulb to finally go on-but, it WILL eventually happen. In the meantime, it's all I can do to stay positive in the face of repeated uncertainty. This morning simulator session was particularly disheartening. The scenario was set up for me to fly a GPS approach with a 200 FT cloud cover ceiling. As I descended into the thickest clouds about 3,000 feet up, I noticed that my attitude indicator was providing some misleading information. Rather than do the correct thing and cross-check the other instruments on my panel, I chased the attitude indicator with a hard bank to the right, to what I assumed would give me the proper correction. A few seconds later, I finally glanced over at the airspeed indicator, which was showing a rapid increase to 200 kts. It was at this point I knew something was wrong. My vertical speed indicator showed I was plummeting at a rate of 2,000 feet per minute. In a panic, I yanked back on the control yoke sharply, hoping to stave off certain death. This only exaggerated the effect, and as I peered over at the altimeter in vain, I knew my time was up. In a few short seconds, the simulator screen flashed bright red, and the speakers blasted out the ominous sound of my airplane slamming into the ground.

A few moments later, after I surveyed the damage, the CFI explained what happened. He had failed my vacuum pump system, rendering two crucial instruments inoperative. By neglecting my other instruments, namely the turn coordinator, I had inadvertently entered what's known as a graveyard spiral. I'm guessing it's called that because happy endings are few and far between. Mortified and dejected, it was a rough ending to a brutal past few days. There are few things in life as difficult as feeling inadequate, and that's the prevailing emotion after most of these sessions. I want so badly to succeed at this, and to some degree, I already have. Never once did I expect this to be easy, but by the same token, I didn't think anything could be this hard. Why do the things we want the most in life often prove to be the most elusive? This is the question I'm pondering tonight as I pore over airport diagrams and approach charts in hopes that tomorrow's the day of my instrument breakthrough.

Despite repeated failures in the sim, my resolve remains stronger than ever. I can, and will, do this. Even though the road ahead remains long and grueling, I've already come so far. It's a daily battle to fight through the negativity and self-doubt-in flight school, confidence is like gold, and finding it is often a struggle, but when it DOES arrive, there is nothing you cannot do. I'll let you know when I get there. With the check ride still a few weeks off, there's ample time to keep searching. And even in the midst of the long hours of study, perpetual setbacks, and the constant wondering of whether I have it in me, I still, without a doubt, love to fly. That trumps all else.
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On the (admittedly) small list of 'Things I Will Not Miss About Texas', the 5:30 a.m. lawn service visits to my housing complex would rank pretty high. What would ordinarily be the unmistakable sounds of weed-eaters and leaf blowers resembles something more like a chainsaw and machine guns when roused from a mid-REM cycle just prior to wake up. The first time it happened, I instinctively dove for cover underneath my bed and began making tunnels in hopes of survival. Generally, this is not the ideal way to start a morning. My brain is conditioned to tolerate only soft, peaceful noises during slumber. Anything more than that and the sensory system goes haywire. I understand their desire to avoid the intense mid-day heat, but flight school students need to sleep. Next time it happens, the lawn care team should be forced to partake in one of my simulator sessions as retribution. It's only fair.

PB&J Sandwiches Consumed (to date): 87