Checklists

(a copy of an article in AOPA Flight Training Magazine)

Checklists are not do lists

Build professional habits from the beginning

Like aircraft manuals, checklists are written in blood. When an incident occurs, a checklist or procedure is written to keep it from recurring. In this respect, checklists are as much memory joggers as they are a means of assigning liability to the pilot in command. While checklists were never intended to be a step-by-step "recipe" for flight, initial flight training usually requires them to be used as both recipe and memory jogger.

Let's say your primary student is on his or her first flight and you want him to perform the engine start. In this case, a step-by-step recipe approach to a checklist makes sense. For example, Battery--show him where the switch is and how to turn it on. Mixture--show him that, too. Throttle--demonstrate how far to "crack" it. Then have him yell, "Clear!" to no one in particular. (Make sure you explain why you say that before twisting the ignition key.) This is the orientation, or "recipe" phase. But during the debrief, you should explain that checklists are not "do" lists. Instead, they are a means of confirming that you did all you were supposed to do. After this, ask your student to study the checklist so he can perform his prestart flow from memory, and then review the checklist prior to turning the prop. This method of checklist usage is standard for virtually every multicrew aircraft in the piloting profession.

I never grasped this concept until I was learning to fly DC-9s. At that time, I was still in the do-list mode. I had spent decades teaching people how to fly, and yet no one had ever taught me that I could set the switches and then review the checklist. Wow--what a concept. It's not a checklist; it's a "check-off" list, in part because complex aircraft require a multitude of switches be set prior to engine start. If the MD-11 checklist was a do list, I'd need an extra 20 minutes to get airborne. Students will find it much easier to transition to more complex aircraft if this checklist technique is taught from day one.

There is another way that instructors can be helpful. Once your student masters checklist usage, why not have her "call" for the appropriate checklist and then you read it to her? OK, I admit I'm pushing boundaries here. After all, a designated pilot examiner will not read a checklist during a checkride. However, using this approach might actually help your students become better professional copilots, because verbalizing items gives you a better chance of ensuring they'll get done. In larger aircraft, the kind equipped with voice recorders, it's also a way to cover your--well, you know what.

Checklists can only minimize human mistakes, because we see what we want to see, especially true when we are tired. Here are some examples: I was darting over the airfield in an A-4 and broke hard into a 60-degree-bank, 4-G, 180-degree turn. I leveled the wings on downwind, and put the landing gear down. I called, "Base, gear down," then started another 180-degree turn to final. I made a habit of checking the gear three times--first, when I put it down; second, while turning base; and third, on final. As I was checking the gear on base, I discovered it was still up, even though I had reported it down. For whatever reason, I had failed to lower the gear handle. How could that happen? I don't know, but it did, and reviewing the checklist saved my day.

Later, I was a first officer in the MD-11 and my captain happened to be a check airman. He didn't have the correct minimum altitude set for the approach, and I knew it. He had been a pain the entire trip, prompting me for this and that, and I couldn't wait to read the checklist to point out his error. "Minimums," I said, reading from the Approach Checklist. He responded with what he had set, to which I replied, "I don't think so." He looked at his setting and adamantly gave the same answer. Well, my answer was the same, too. Getting increasingly agitated, he rechecked his setting and realized it would have put us 100 feet below the ground instead of 200 feet above it. Yes, correcting him felt good, but my point is, verbalizing the checklist is what saved us.

Not convinced? A fellow captain flying internationally shared this one with me. His first officer wasn't feeling well, but was the pilot flying anyway. The local altimeter was 992 millibars. The captain read, "Altimeters, 992," and the FO responded, "992." The problem was the FO had 29.92 inches set in because he failed to reset his altimeter to the local setting. The difference between 29.92 inches of mercury and 992 millibars is more than 500 feet, and the captain didn't notice this right away. Had the altitude miscompare not alerted him, they could have had a problem.
"But I'm instructing in a Cessna 172," you say. "We don't set minimum altitudes, have retractable landing gear, or worry about transition altitudes and millibars." True, but this is about developing a checklist mentality. What happens if you are prepared to land and you must suddenly go around? Let's say that you forgot to adjust your fuel mixture, switch fuel tanks, or turn on the fuel boost pump. Remember: Perform your checklist items first, and then review the checklist to ensure completion.

Emergency checklists are handled differently in single-engine versus multiengine aircraft. Experience has taught me that there isn't time to dig out a checklist if your single engine quits at low altitude. (And it's not fun, either.) In this case, your students must know emergency procedures by heart. However, if you are flying a multiengine aircraft that has any kind of performance, an engine failure should be more of a nuisance than a crisis. Here, you are better off flying the aircraft, reducing the drag, trimming the aircraft, and--when you are ready--digging out the checklist.

Every pilot grows into his role, and experience breeds wisdom. Your students gain their initial aviating knowledge from you, so arm them with information worth clinging to.

Mark W. Danielson is a retired Navy pilot who currently flies for FedEx. He has been a CFI for 26 years and has flown more than 11,000 hours.

By Mark W. Danielson

Logging Cross-Country Time

(Reprint of AOPA article)

AOPA frequently receives inquiries regarding cross-country distances and landing requirements. Over the years, the regulations have changed. To assist our members, we have constructed an overall summary of the requirements that will be helpful.

By definition, cross-country time includes any flight conducted by a pilot in an aircraft that includes a landing at a point other than the point of departure that includes the use of dead reckoning, pilotage, electronic navigation aids, radio aids, or other navigation systems to navigate to the landing point. Reference: 14 CFR 61.1(b)(3)(i).

TO PROVIDE ADDITIONAL CLARIFICATIONS to the general definition above, the following situations have higher requirements:

To meet the requirements (except rotorcraft and powered parachute category rating) for a private certificate, a commercial certificate, instrument rating, or for the purposes of exercising recreational pilot privileges (except in a rotorcraft) under 61.101(c), cross-country time requires a point of landing that is more than 50 nm straight-line distance from the original point of departure. 14 CFR 61.1(b)(3)(ii)

To meet the requirements for any pilot certificate with a rotorcraft category rating or the instrument-helicopter rating, or for the purpose of exercising recreational pilot privileges in a rotorcraft under 61.101(c), cross-country time requires a point of landing that is more than 25 nm straight-line distance from the original point of departure. 14 CFR 61.1(b)(3)(v)

To meet the requirements for a sport pilot certificate (except for powered parachute privileges), cross-country time requires a point of landing that is more than 25 nm straight-line distance from the original point of departure. 14 CFR 61.1(b)(3)(iii)

To meet the requirements for a sport pilot certificate with powered parachute privileges or a private pilot certificate with a powered parachute category rating, cross-country time requires a point of landing that is more than 15 nm straight-line distance from the original point of departure. 14 CFR 61.1(b)(3)(iv)

To meet the requirements for the ATP certificate, cross-country time is more than 50 nm straight-line distance from the original point of departure with no requirement for a landing. 14 CFR 61.1(b)(3)(vi)

For a military pilot who qualifies for a commercial pilot certificate (except with a rotorcraft category rating) under 61.73, cross-country time is more than 50 nm straight-line distance from the original point of departure with no landing requirement. 14 CFR 61.1(b)(3)(vii)

AOPA recommends that you log all cross-country hours under the basic cross-country column and then add the distance and landing information under the notes or remarks column alongside. This will enable the pilot to correctly provide his or her cross-country hours depending on the question asked, the situation presented, or the certificate or rating sought.

Pilots may think that they would only need to account for cross-country hours that can be used to meet certificate requirements. This is true from a strict FAA legal point of view; a pilot only has to prove those hours used for certificate requirement and the various currency requirements. We have seen pilots sell themselves short, however, when asked for cross-country time on an airline job application, an insurance renewal form, or the cross-country requirements for a Part 135 pilot in command under 14 CFR 135.243(b) and (c), all of which were looking for total cross-country time.

What is a mentor?

If you have read any of the AOPA magazines, you have seen the word "mentor" thrown around quite a bit. So what does it have to do with you?

The idea in a nutshell, is to keep you motivated in your flight training and to have a constant in case your instructor, in so many cases, leaves your flight school.

Most student pilots, I would guess, do not have a mentor. In most of the cases, the instructor attempts to fill the double role as the mentor as well. This works in many cases, and I hope I am fulfilling that capacity at some level with those of you who are taking your instruction from me.

I try to leave time, weather at the beginning of the lesson, or after we are finished, to just talk about fun stuff when I am not "on the clock." There is so much more to flying than just taking lessons and checking off boxes and filling out logbooks. These are the elements that the mentor is supposed to accomplish.

For those who are not learning to fly as a profession, flying is supposed to be mostly about fun. In my opinion, that includes the training as well. I try very hard to make each lesson fun, especially when it comes time to do the cross countries.

So, if you do not have a "mentor" and feel that your instructor is not doing well at that aspect, bring it up. Together, figure out how to make the most of your flight instruction.

On the flip side, don't feel pressure when your instructor calls you up if you haven't flown in awhile. Yes, it is true that he is making his living of teaching you to fly, but he is also trying to keep you encouraged on sticking with it and finishing what you have started.

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

In one respect, I'm afraid of the dark. I live in the mid-Atlantic region, and I fly single-engine fixed-wing and rotary wing aircraft. Here, the terrain undulates, and flat fields often are the exception rather than the rule. Consequently, I get even more cautious whenever I fly after sunset.

After the requirements for a pilot certificate have been met, how many of us seek dual instruction at night? How often do we practice groping for the runway with a burned-out landing light, inoperative panel lights, or while handling an engine failure? Aside from finishing that last hour of a cross-country flight that sometimes ends with a single night landing, or the three times around every 90 days, how many of us take off on a night cross-country? Other than the freight dogs and a few pilots who prefer the night shift, not a great many of us are in that group. And how many of the roughly half of all pilots who aren't instrument-rated know what it feels like to be deprived of most of their familiar visual references, even though the air is crystal clear?
Night accidents are actually fewer in raw numbers and on an hours-flown basis than daytime--but night accidents are more likely to be fatal than those that take place in daylight. According to the AOPA Air Safety Foundation's 2007 Nall Report, there were 7.1 accidents per 100,000 flight hours in daylight compared to 6.6 at night.

Night accidents were fatal, however, more than one-third of the time (34.6 percent) compared to daytime accidents, which involved fatalities 19.2 percent of the time. Night accidents in instrument weather conditions had the worst outcomes with nearly three-quarters (74 percent) resulting in fatalities.

What are the hazards associated with flying at night? In no particular order, first of all, the horizon (and the ground) is harder to see. For pilots flying by visual references, it's easier to get disoriented or simply lost. Most of us are not night owls, and we're more tired at night. And of course, the biggest excuse for blundering into clouds is that we can't see a cloud coming anywhere near as well as we can during the day, so an inadvertent encounter with instrument meteorological conditions can happen.

Airports may be a bit harder to find. Without as many visual cues at night, most new pilots approach the runway too steeply, and too fast. This is the realm of the dreaded black hole. At night, optical illusions abound. During cruise, scattered ground lights can appear to be stars, causing a pilot to lower the nose and descend. Unlit terrain with an overcast or dark sky beyond can make the horizon appear to be lower than it really is. Sloping clouds can cause a pilot to enter an unusual attitude.

Illusions can arise from the eyes, such as an after-image from a bright light, or the brain, when one misinterprets a false horizon. They can also occur from the innocent cooperation between the eyes and the brain, such as with nystagmus, the involuntary and rapid oscillatory movements made by the eyes when the body experiences vertigo, or autokinesis, which are small, involuntary but normal motions of our eyes that can cause an object to seemingly move in irregular arcs.

Miscues can also arise from within your ears: in this case, the otoliths in the cochlear canals--our balance organs. Each ear has a pair of them, one being vertical, and the other horizontal. Each contains otoliths, which are small crystals attached to the free ends of sensory hairs that are in turn connected to nerve cells on the cochlear canals' walls. When our heads are tilted back, the hairs bend, and certain nerves send a "tilt" message to the brain. The problem is that forward acceleration, such as taking off on a dark night over featureless terrain, can cause the otoliths to convey that tilt message, particularly when there isn't any visual information to override it after the takeoff roll ends and you climb away from the airport.

Our neck muscles tell our brain that our head has not tilted back and that we must be climbing quite steeply, so we judiciously push forward on the stick or yoke (which only adds to the acceleration, of course, making things worse). This is known as the somatogravic or false climb illusion. Flying VX or VY is probably the safest during the initial stages of a night takeoff; make good use of the attitude indicator and vertical speed indicator.

Just when the demands of flying a nighttime trip and descending into an unfamiliar airport pattern are almost over, it can get worse. The next greatest fear, believe it or not, is the flare and touchdown. Most of us seem to know quite well that our peripheral visual cues won't be around to help us sort through this phase of flight (or if we don't, one time is enough to convince us). And most of us rely on what we see from the landing light up front in order to judge our sink rate. The FAA's Airplane Flying Handbook suggests watching until the landing lights reflect on the runway; when you see tire marks or other details on the runway surface, start the roundout and gradually reduce power to idle.

What else can we do to improve nighttime flying safety?

If you can't see it and identify it, don't trust it. Avoid long straight-in approaches at night, as tempting and available as they may be. Descend from higher up, keeping a safe gliding distance if you prefer, until you're at a normal pattern altitude. This is especially true if the destination airport is surrounded by higher terrain. If any lights on the ground suddenly twinkle or go out, climb! It might've been because they disappeared behind a hill. If you don't like the looks of a 3-degree glide path to any part of a runway, fly a tighter pattern. Whenever available, use the VASI or PAPI and be sure to fly no lower than "red over white." Always be absolutely positive that what you think is an airport really is one!

Altitude is your friend. As far as that perceived fear, my own solution is flying higher at night. Your terrain and obstacle clearance should be all the greater, and a side benefit is that your radio reception will be, too (especially useful, should you need it).

Pay attention to the time of the month. Whenever you're planning a long trip that is unlikely to end before the day does, try to do it as close to a full moon as possible. Obviously this would exclude nondiscretionary mission-critical types of flying.

Seeing forever. For nighttime newbies, having great visibility will also make life a whole lot easier. The five-mile legal minimum is better off doubled.

When over-flying airports en route, click on the pilot controlled lighting. It may be wasting some electrons, but a lit airport makes a great landmark, and if you should suddenly need it, your own personal marquee would then already be waiting for you.

Speaking of lights, light your own. You'll have a few seconds' more advance notice for any clouds lying in wait, and other night fliers (birds included) will see you better. (If you're flying through a light snow shower, however, you might feel like you're doing Warp Five, so it isn't always the right thing to do.)

Jeff Pardo is an aviation writer in Maryland with a commercial pilot certificate for airplanes, and instrument, helicopter, and glider ratings. He has logged about 1,300 hours since 1989. Pardo has also flown for the Civil Air Patrol.

Want to know more?Links to additional resources about the topics discussed in this article are available at AOPA Flight Training Online.

By Jeff Pardo Photography by Mike Fizer