Progress

Much of the definition of success is based on the concept of progress. Are we making progress? Are we developing the way we should be? Could we be better? Heck, even a car insurance companies choose names based on this. The majority of humans are always striving for the next big thing. Here in flight school, progress is a funny thing. I crave it most in moments it seems farthest away. My hunger for it is greatest when I'm working the hardest. Last week, progress proved to be impervious despite my best efforts, but it's slowly starting to seep in, much in the same way the recent rainwaters have flooded my basement apartment: at first, you're unaware it's happening, but slowly, over a period of days, there are subtle hints that something has happened.

I began the pursuit of my instrument rating over three weeks ago. Knowing the difficulties it would present, I told myself I'd do whatever it took to succeed. At first, that simply meant plowing through every aviation textbook within a seven-county radius, taking meticulous notes during ground lessons, and throwing down flight simulator sessions with my roommate until our eyes glazed over like Aunt Jemima. This, as it turned out, was only a viable strategy for awhile, as burnout quickly ensued, culminating with last week's desperation phone call to my Mom. Should 26 year-olds need to dial home crying? Well, um, yes. There was a time, shortly after crashing the sim and being berated by the CFI, that I wondered if I had what it takes. That maybe I was in over my head, and had been too ambitious in my pursuit of a new career. I guess that's why the past few weeks were so tough.

Bottom line: instrument flying is one of the toughest things I've ever done. I spent the better part of two months learning to fly based on visual reference, and with the advent of instrument training, it was almost as though I had to start over. People always want to know: what's so hard about this, compared to what you've already learned? To put it into the best perspective that I can, everything seemingly happens at once: locating the prescribed approach, correctly briefing it and programming it into the GPS or localizer frequency, deciphering the airport charts while maintaining the proper ground track, wind correction angle, and airspeed, communicating with Air Traffic Control, working through the checklist flows, making small corrections to the control yoke, paying the requisite attention to the numerous gauges, dials, and radio frequencies, double checking to ensure that landing gear is down and stabilized, making the appropriate verbal announcements at the right times, altitudes, and locations, and finally, using every ounce of mental concentration required to keep from yelling at/strangling the CFI. It's truly the Olympics of multitasking. Fixate too much on one of the above areas and something else goes to potts. At first, it was as though the CFI's goal was to fluster, intimidate, confuse, and befuddle me to the point of no return. And for awhile, it worked, climaxing with the sim crash of doom that I wrote about last time. But now, I've learned to antipate things and stay ahead of the airplane, trying to reduce my workload as much as I can so that in the critical phase of flight, my attention won't be as divided. It's tough, and it hasn't been an easy process, but I'm getting there.

The ways I am able to see my progress vary, but for the most part, it boils down to a confidence thing, coupled with a greatly reduced number of mistakes. I've begun to believe in myself again, and it's showing during my flight lessons. Also, it's exciting to see just what the CFI can throw my way during the sim sessions. The other day he forced me to land with 1.5 inches of ice accumulated on the wings, a scenario in real life that should hopefully never happen. Icing of the wings results in a drastic reduction of lift and a tremendous decrease in velocity. The combination, if unremedied, could cause an aircraft to pitch down at high speeds, which, of course, is exactly what happened to me. I survived the CFI's test this time, and it'll be exciting to see what else is in his arsenal tomorrow.

The rewards of mastering this stuff are tangible: there are some 614,000 licensed pilots in the U.S., but roughly only a quarter of that group possess an instrument rating. It'll be exciting to join the ranks of such a tiny sliver of the population. I've always wanted to be part of such a small club, like the time I wore a green tights and catcher's gear around the house, pretending to be Donatello from the Ninja Turtles. I've come a long way since then. Now, one could argue that only a small percentage of working professionals are circus clowns, or are qualified to drive the ice-cream truck around, but I'm hoping that this is a more rewarding career path.

Random Flight School Anecdote of the Week: The other day, while partaking in a mandated 'Fox NFL Sunday' study break, a moment of panic set in when I was unable to instantaneously recall who the head coach of the 2008 Detroit Lions was. Previously, this is exactly the type of data that would have rolled off my tongue without hesitation. But now? My brain is flummoxed with the overflow of aviation knowledge and is having a hard time defragmenting the useless information that is no longer needed. So while I may have had to enlist the help of Wikipedia to learn that it was in fact Rod Marinelli, I did NOT have to look up the fuel requirements for IFR flight, which can be found in FAR 91.167. I think this is a good thing.

PB&J Sandwiches Consumed (to date): 99