Only an instructor would love a day like today

There are only a handful of pilots I'd be comfortable with flying with today. Luckily, one of my lessons is with one of them.

The winds are howling courtesy of a big low pressure system that has brought an unusual haze, high temperatures and a few lines of thunderstorms across the state. It's bad enough that the ATIS at Crystal mentions hazardous weather information available though flight watch.

The winds aloft are out of the southwest at 35 knots or so and it's going to be a hot bumpy ride down low. My instrument student opines that he'd rather be sitting home watching golf than flying in this mess.

I can't argue with his logic or judgment. It's just a plain bad day to be flying light airplanes and not such a great day for flying an airliner.

But I also know my guy is good enough to handle it. Plus, I'm confident we'll stay visual for the entire trip, a key to flying when there are boomers about.

So, we file IFR for what is normally a short flight over to Litchfield, about 45 miles southwest.

The takeoff is something to behold. The crosswind is about 40 degrees and the winds are 20 knots gusting to 30.

Incredibly, there's another airplane taking off at the same time. It's a pretty Navion all done up in Air Force paint.

Minneapolis departure gives us a bizarre vector to the northeast despite our south by southwest destination but eventually we get turned in the right direction and they give us a heading and clear us to join V78, which runs between Gopher and Darwin VORs.

After about five minutes it's obvious we could fly our assigned heading all day and still not intercept the airway so I give departure a call and let them know their heading just won't work out. They come back with a more reasonable intercept heading and we're on the airway in no time.

The rest of the trip out is uneventful. We climb above the worst of the turbulence and my guy does a great job. The 172 performs like crap in this weather, but it's good enough.

The approach into Litchfield works out ok although the AWOS is reporting calm winds and I'm pretty certain that's just plain wrong. Sure enough, a 182 on final reports going around and offers the helpful advice that the winds are "screwy".

When we overfly the field the windsock is sticking straight out at a 90-degree angle to the runway and flapping around. "Screwy" seems to describe the situation quite well.

The trip back is more of the same. We're tired of getting beat up and ask for 5,000 heading home, which we get because nobody else is dumb enough to be out flying today.

The air is cool and smooth at 5,000 but we're only there for a few minutes before center hands us off to Minneapolis approach, who promptly drops us down to 3,000, back in the bumps and murk.

Even I don't have the heart to make my student fly another approach although he's up for it. I figure it's good training to handle the typical “Airport 12 O'clock and 10 miles, report it in sight” visual approach deal.

On the way in the winds are a 50 degree crosswind at 14 gusting to 25 and my student does a great job getting us down with a minimum of fuss.

He's a good pilot and he flies the airplane until we have it safely tucked back in the hangar.

I head home for a cold beer. It's been six days of straight work with at least two flights, and often three flights, a day and I'm plain whipped. I've flown something like 18 hours this past week, which I guess isn't a lot but it's more than I'm used to. That translates into probably 70 hours of actual work, driving to and from the airport, hanging out between lessons, prepping, pushing airplanes in and out of hangars, etc..

The morning started with a flight in a newish Bonanza and a pilot who was getting used to the airplane and wanted to fly with an instructor for a bit. Luckily he's a fine pilot and did a good job so it was a low stress flight. Even better, I knew enough about the Bonanza and the systems, particularly the autopilot and GPS, that I could teach him some stuff and therefore earn my pay

I'd never even sat in a Bonanza before this morning, which I thought was an issue but didn't seem to concern my client in the least.

As luck would have it, in the last simulator session I went through to maintain my instrument currency we'd configured it as a Bonanza so I was familiar with the appropriate power settings and how to use the blasted KFC-150 autopilot. I'd also studied everything I could find about the airplane for a few days before the flight.

I guess that's an unseen part of flight instructing: Spending untold hours studying an airplane or subject all for less than 2 hours of pay.

Anyhow, my Bonanza guy was good enough that he made it easy on me and I never had to touch the controls but got to show him some neat tricks.

The power settings and speeds are pretty close to an SR-22 so the thing felt pretty normal after about five minutes of flying around. That's more a testament to the quality of the airplane than to any ability on my part, to be sure.

It seems bizarre, but I'd be comfortable flying that airplane across the country tomorrow. It's that good and that sweet a machine.

It's also a beautiful airplane, by the way, and incredibly solid and stable. The entire airplane feels like it's machined out of a solid block of aluminium. If I had the cash I'd have a hard time not buying a Bonanza.

Some days I just can't believe I get paid to do what I do.

200

Somewhere on short final to 14R at Crystal today I passed 200-hours of dual given. Appropriately it was in a 172 on a bumpy, windy morning.

It was just shy of three months ago that I passed 100-hours of dual given, so it's been a good few months.

Basically my schedule has me flying once or twice a day, six days a week. That's great, but it also means spending a bunch of time in traffic getting to and from the airport, which isn't so great.

I'm up to eight students working on ratings right now, four instrument and four primary, and it's work just to keep straight who is doing what next. Trying to keep a high level of service and personal attention is critical, both for the student and from the business perspective. It's also tough because I spend so much time flying with so many different people in a bunch of different airplanes the lessons all sort of run together after a while.

I've also been picking up some currency flights and aircraft checkouts, which is a fun diversion. On Wednesday I did a currency flight in our club's Cirrus SR-20 with another pilot. Thursday I started getting another pilot ready for an Instrument Proficiency Check in his Mooney and tomorrow I'm checking out a pilot in a Bonanza.

The beauty of doing so much instruction is how much I learn about flying every day. It's a huge challenge and just plain hard work but you sure do learn a lot.

A couple of students are getting close to their checkrides, so I'm really excited to get them finished up. I see the effort they put in every day and it's a good reminder of my own struggles when I was working on my licenses and ratings.

Learning to fly is never easy but it's especially tough as you get closer to a checkride because you know how to do what needs to be done and your standards are high, but some days the performance isn't quite there, which is a huge frustration.

I just keep reminding folks that everybody goes through the same period and they know how to fly so it's just a matter of polishing the little things.

Near miss

The toughest part of being an instrument instructor is the sheer volume of things that are going on during any given lesson.

There's looking for traffic, spotting deviations in altitude and heading, figuring out what question to ask the student to get them back on track, looking for traffic, paying attention to what ATC is saying, paying attention to what other airplanes on the frequency are saying, looking for traffic, keeping track of where you are and what altitude you're supposed to be at, coaching the student through an approach and oh yeah, looking for traffic.

It's basically a matter of keeping a massive three-dimensional picture in your head, not only of where you are but where other airplanes are, where the airport is, where obstructions are, where the navaids are and then trying to get your student to see that picture as well.

Yesterday that workload caught up with me a bit.

We'd just flown the VOR-B approach into Buffalo, gone missed and done a few turns around the hold at the LORDY intersection and I asked my student to head up to YAZMA, the initial approach fix for the VOR-A approach into Maple Lake.

We'd briefed the sequence on the ground and he had a good grasp of what he needed to do, but it started falling apart in the airplane. In this case, it was the notion of a crossing radial off of the St. Cloud VOR that defines YAZMA that was causing confusion.

We were right on the 059 radial that makes up the final approach course into Maple Lake and headed northbound, so it should have been a matter of just determining if we were east or west of YAZMA. Since we needed to fly outbound first no matter what to fly a procedure turn the hot ticket was to just turn outbound, figure out if we were inside or outside of YAZMA and do a procedure turn.

Instead, my student started focusing on how to fly to the crossing radial and I watched in dismay as we flew through the approach course. It was obvious he had no idea where he was.

So I looked down for a moment, pointed out what was happening with our two VOR receivers, our heading and our altitude, the approach plate and asked the question that's the bane of instrument students everywhere: Where are you?

Then I looked up just in time to see another 172 diving below us, opposite direction and a few hundred yards ahead. Luckily, they'd seen us because I never saw them until it was almost too late.

My student was blissfully unaware under the hood and finally started getting caught up on where he was and what he needed to do.

By the time we'd completed the procedure turn my heart rate was back to normal and I pointed out that while he might be having a tough day at least he was spared the sight of the top of a 172 wing diving below our nose.

We finished up the approach then headed back to Crystal where he flew a very nice VOR-A approach and we circled to land.

It was a good learning experience all around.

I'm obsessive about looking for traffic, always have been, but it just goes to show that it only takes a few moments of inattention to what's happening outside the window to cause a big problem.

Back in the Cirrus

Our Cirrus SR-20 had been down for overhaul since December and just went back on line Friday evening. The initial break-in hours were flown off so I grabbed an instructor pal to go out and get current again in the airplane.

Our insurance company requires three hours in the airplane within the previous 180 days plus some time as PIC within the previous 90 for currency purposes. Since the airplane has been down for more than three months, well, almost nobody in the club is current in the airplane.

I figured the race is to the swift, so if I was the first instructor to get current in the airplane I'd be in a good position to get our other club members current in it as well.

There had been a lot of talk at our last club meeting about how pilots could get current again, most of which involved splitting hairs and bizarre schemes where two pilots, neither of whom were current in the airplane, could go fly it and get current, one by flying and one by acting as a safety pilot.

That seems like about as good idea as self-performed brain surgery to me. Sure, by the letter of our insurance policy they'd be technically current. Proficient is a whole different matter though. And I wouldn't want to explain to the insurance company how I jumped in the airplane without having even done a takeoff and landing but somehow considered myself covered.

The irony is there's no insurance requirement that instructors actually be current in the airplane. So, technically I can not fly the thing for a year, hop in with another club member and get them current. Then, as PIC, I'd be magically current as well. All without touching the controls.

Anyhow, I figure if I'm going to be flying and teaching in something I should probably have an above average level of proficiency in it. I certainly owe my clients that much, not to mention it just might save both our butts if things go wrong.

Plus, I just wanted to go out and really work the airplane since it had been about four months since I'd flown it.

So, off we went for a bunch of stalls with full flaps, half flaps, no flaps, power on, power off, turning stalls and generally flying the thing near its envelope. The big deal when stalling the Cirrus is to keep the ailerons neutral and work the rudder to keep the wings level. That's a good idea in any airplane but even more important in the Cirrus, which can turn nasty if you start yanking the ailerons about in the stall.

My instructor pal and I talked about what to really look out for when checking folks out in the airplane, which was great. He's a Cirrus Standardized Instructor with a ton of hours in various Cirri so I was happy to glean as much information as possible while still trying to remember how to fly the airplane.

After a couple of steep turns, which started out ugly and got better after I got used to the sight picture again, we headed over to Princeton and worked on some landings.

We did the normal full flap landing (80 knot Vref on final), some half-flap landings (85 knot Vref) and a no-flapper (90 knot Vref) and a fun power-off approach and landing.

The Cirrus training guide recommends, or outright stipulates I'm not sure which, that power-off approaches to landings only be practiced with more than 5,000 feet of runway. We didn't have quite that at Princeton but figured we both were sharp enough on the stick that it wouldn't be a problem.

As it turned out, the power-off landing worked out just fine and it was fun to slip the baby Cirrus down final with full flaps.

The highlight of the day was a no-flap takeoff, which calls for a rotation speed of 90 knots. That's getting close to light jet territory in terms of speed and it's an impressive sight to be barreling down the runway waiting for 90 knots to show up. It'll fly if you rotate below that, but not particularly well.

After that bit of fun I went under the hood, flew an uneventful GPS 14L approach back into Crystal and finished up with a circling approach to 32R.

All totalled up it was 1.8 hours, very little of which was spent straight and level. Honestly, I think that's about the minimum for really getting back up to speed and proficient in the airplane after a long period of not flying it. We pretty much did everything you need to do in the airplane with a minimum of fussing around and it still took nearly two hours.

How on earth somebody thinks they can go watch somebody else fly a couple of instrument approaches and suddenly be truly proficient is beyond me.

I think a big part of that boils down to the difference between being a professional and not. It might sound self-serving, but a pro knows what he doesn't know and goes up to learn it, get sharp again and get truly proficient. An amateur looks for shortcuts or is just willing to accept a lower level of proficiency.

All that aside, it's a fun airplane and runs like a champ now. It had been a bit pokey before and it was obvious the lump was getting tired but now it runs like it's supposed to, climbs strongly again and is showing about 10 knots more indicated airspeed than it had been.

I'm finally getting within shouting distance of the 250 hours of dual given that is a requirement before heading up to Duluth to go through their CSIP training, so that's a good thing. I'm really looking forward to teaching the Cirrus since they're fun airplanes to fly and you just gotta love the avionics.

Luckily, I can teach in our club SR-20 without being a Cirrus Standardized Instructor, so I'll pick up some more time and experience in the airplane over the next month or two before I head up to Duluth.

The next few months are going to be busy, which is good. My schedule is getting more and more booked and I'm pretty much flying every day into June. In fact, I'm busy enough that I need to work at keeping at least one day a week open so I can get a day off.

I never thought I'd want a day off from flying but they're actually quite a treat.

The longest day

I never thought I'd have to worry about running up against the 8-hour limit for instructing in a 24-hour period. I was wrong.

Yesterday, my alarm clock went off at 5:30 a.m., I stumbled into the shower, grabbed a bowl of cereal then checked the weather. I was on the road by 6:30 and at the airport by 7 to fly the required long IFR cross-country with one of my instrument students.

We went over his planning and finally got the engine running at 7:55 a.m. The winds were howling out of the north but it still took us longer than expected to get to La Crosse. Center gave us the ILS-18 via the DME Arc and my guy did a nice job flying the approach. We picked up a new clearance and battled the headwinds up to Eau Claire for the Loc/DME back course 04, again via an arc.

From there, it was a fairly simple clearance back to Crystal, we got vectors for the VOR-A and circled to land.

All total, the engine was running for 4 hours.

After that it was a quick lunch then an IFR currency flight in the 182RG with another pilot in my club. We flew six approaches and a hold, had a lot of fun and had the engine turning for 2.5 hours.

My next flight wasn't scheduled until 7:30 p.m. I grabbed a cup of coffee, hung out at the FBO for a bit and finally met my private student to go over his planning for his dual night cross-country.

As luck would have it, the last person who flew the airplane didn't fuel it, so we had to taxi over to the pumps and top it off.

That meant we weren't wheels up until 9 p.m. We picked up flight following and headed up to Little Falls. My student did a fine job, it was a beautiful night and we could spot the airport beacon from 30-miles out.

I'd figured it wouldn't take more than 90 minutes to get up to KLXL and back to Crystal so I'd be right at the 8-hour limit. Well, turns out it took a bit longer (everything takes longer with student pilots, which isn't a bad thing) and by the time we finished up we'd been burning avgas for 2.3 hours.

That meant 8.8 hours of flying yesterday, none of it particularly easy, and a 17-hour “duty day.”

I staggered into my truck and tried to stay awake on the drive home. At midnight I parked in front of the house, stumbled upstairs and tried to fall asleep with my ears ringing and the oddest sensation that I was turning left. I guess nearly 9 hours of bouncing around in an airplane had messed with my inner ear because even though I was on a nice solid bed I kept feeling like I was in light turbulence. Weird.

Anybody who thinks flight instructing is a cake job or an easy way to build hours is clueless. It's a great job and incredibly satisfying, but it's also hard work and long days. Fueling an airplane in the freezing, windy dark after you've been up for 15 hours and already flown for almost 7 just isn't my idea of glamor.

I have no flying scheduled for the next couple of days and that's just fine with me.