Okay, it's been a while since I've posted an update. To be honest, a lot of that has to do with not knowing what to write. It's not for lack of material, mind you. It's because these past 7 lessons have had some of the highest highs and lowest lows I've experienced in this journey. They're definitely worth talking about and I've been wanting to do it. Alas, it's human nature to dwell on the negative, and after leaving some of these lessons not thinking I was fit to fly a kite, the old adage "if you can't say nothin' nice, don't say anything at all" kept popping into my head. I didn't want this blog to become my vent, so I'd hold off until the next lesson when I could build upon the weaknesses exposed in the previous one. Sometimes that would be the next day or two, so it felt natural to want to group both together. But I'd not get to writing that post, then another frustrating day in the air, and the cycle repeats.
I wrote in an earlier post about the importance of seeing weaknesses as challenges, not setbacks. As frustrated as I was leaving the field after some of these lessons--as much as I wanted to scream and vent to the universe--I stepped up my game the next time out. Incrementally, things improved. I felt more and more confident. Things were starting to come together. My landings started out over this period of time ranging from "well, nothing broke" to "could be better." By the 6th lesson, they were ranging between "marginally passable" to "hey, not bad!" Still not quite as consistent as I would like, but the trend was definitely moving in the right direction and both of my instructors seemed pleased with my progress.
When you talk to pilots who have "mastered" landings, many will tell you "one day, it just clicks." I don't know if I buy that. "It just clicks" implies that there's just something magical that happens; that all of a sudden a wand is waved and bingo, you can land. I wish. For me, it's been a long road of flying, analyzing, finding key weaknesses, correcting them, and just continuing to gradually fine-tune everything until the pieces more-or-less fall into place. Here are some of the things I really focused in on in the past few months.
First (and I've written about this in my previous post) airspeed. You have to maintain airspeed. A stable approach makes this much easier to accomplish and that's the standard you should shoot for whenever possible. Know what those speeds are, get there, and stay there. Having said that, you're not always going to have the luxury of a stable approach. There are times when you'll have to land short or come in hot. What you need to get good at is not so much maintaining your airspeed, but having absolute control over your airspeed through the entire process; being able to get it to exactly where you need it to be at critical moments (i.e., right at the threshold). You owe it to yourself to know how to correct being 90 knots on base and still make a solid landing. It's energy management. You're going to be correcting those mistakes in the process of learning how to land. Pay attention to how you're correcting those mistakes because knowing how to correct them teaches you how to control the plane.
Watch your instructor land. Pay attention to speed and attitude. They won't be perfect textbook landings, but your instructor will be ahead of the plane the whole way. They'll be fast and they'll pitch up to bleed off that excess airspeed such that you won't really notice they're doing it. They'll be high, but they'll go into a forward slip to drop airspeed and altitude. Learn the stable approach. Learn how to correct an unstable approach. Both are important. But most of all, do not get behind the plane. If you find yourself playing catch-up, just go around.
Coordinated flight. I really didn't know how much this was impacting things until my secondary instructor pointed it out to me. "Keep the ball centered." That was a broken record our first few lessons together. Coordinated flight means the plane has much less drag through the air and can operate more efficiently. It's also much less dangerous in slow flight where you're teetering near stall speed. Part of that may have stemmed from the fact that I switched airframes about the same time I picked up my second instructor, so there were differences in how the Grumman reacted that I wasn't as quick at picking up. Whatever the reason, the broken record approach to beating this concept into my head worked. After a few lessons, my instructor quipped that he didn't have to keep reminding me because it had become part of my routine flying.
The final five feet are critical, so don't lose focus. Fly the plane to the tie-down. Crosswinds will blow you side to side until your wheels are on the runway. At the same time, you can't let yourself get so concerned with maintaining centerline that you forget to watch your airspeed. If you're floating sideways when you reach stall speed, you're going to set down with something of a thud and put a side load on the landing gear. If you're a foot above the deck and not exactly on centerline, don't get too fussy. If there's runway beneath you and the nose is pointed to the opposite end, you'll probably be good. Let it settle and roll.
Trust your gut. I have two instructors who have different perspectives and procedures on things. I had one lesson with my primary instructor where I was landing okay because I was trusting my instinct to keep the nose pointed down just a second longer than my brain wanted me to. He remained quiet for the most part, letting me work out things on my own. On my next lesson, my other instructor would be telling me "okay, begin your roundout" before I felt I needed to, but I listened to him and ended up rounding out just a bit high as a result. Later lessons went smoother because I took my instructor's words as what to do, not so much when or how to do it. By doing things when and how I thought they needed to be done, I got a better sense of control and my instructor felt more confident in my abilities as well. Know they'll step in when safety is at risk, but they'll try to give you as much slack as possible so you can learn to feel things yourself.
October 5th, 2022
This was lesson #50, a milestone in its own right. To this point I had logged about 80 hours--twice the minimum required for getting one's license. The smaller of the two parallel runways at Centennial had just re-opened after a month-long resurfacing. We could finally do pattern work at the home field without having to fly elsewhere. We get in, start up, take off, and immediately get to work. One landing. Not too bad. Second landing. Friggin' gorgeous. Actual applause from my instructor. Third, forth, fifth, all pretty solid. On my 6th landing, I was 10' off the deck when my instructor casually said "go around." There was no urgency. This was a drill. This was him throwing me a wrench because he felt comfortable doing it. Throttle full, reduce flaps partially, nose to horizon, gain airspeed, start climbing back out, retract flaps fully once sufficient airspeed and altitude. What I remembered early on being a series of steps I had to cautiously calculate flowed out of my hands as smoothly as I remember marveling at my instructor doing them in those early lessons. As I climbed out, I thought, "by George, I think I've got it!"
My instructor suggested we call it a day. I agreed. I didn't think we'd gain anything by spending more time/money in the air today. We landed, taxied to the ramp, and my instructor took the controls so I could chill. He says "You think you can do this by yourself?" I said "yeah, I think so." He said he didn't do anything on any of those landings. They were all me. And then, I heard the word every student pilot wants to hear, "solo." He said he'd put in for my stage check once we tied down. It was then that I realized all the work I had been putting into getting my landings in check--working with two instructors with two vastly different styles, screaming, venting, beating myself up, picking myself back up--paid off.
