AOPA Pilot Magazine - June 2011 - 28

PROFICIENTPILOT
BY BARRY SCHIFF
Aeronautical dinosaur
S
ometimes when I write
about the so-called “good
old days,” I can usually anticipate
some readers accusing
me of being an aeronautical
dinosaur. I can understand that kind of sentiment
directed toward someone who refuses trying to
embrace new technology. But I don’t think it is fair
to hurl such comments toward someone who continues
to find value and, perhaps, superiority in
traditional (old-fashioned) methodology.
For example, I was discussing flight training with a young
Barry Schiff has
been writing for
AOPA Pilot for 48
years.
instructor who teaches at a school that utilizes a fleet of
Cessna 172SPs equipped with Garmin G1000 glass cockpits.
I was curious to know how she used such technology
to teach beginning students to develop proficiency in the
four basic elements of flight: straight and level, turns, glides,
and climbs. It saddened me that her explanation involved
heavy reliance on instrumentation (especially attitude and
airspeed indicators).
OK. Here’s where you might want to call me a dinosaur.
I learned to fly in an Aeronca 7AC Champion. We called it
an “Airknocker” or a “Champ.” Its Spartan instrument panel
did not have an attitude indicator, and its airspeed indicator
was less than reliable. Yet my instructor, Mike Walters, did a
credible job of teaching his students by using an old-fashioned
methodology that I am convinced made us and others of my
generation better pilots than had we been taught using glass
cockpits.
My first flying lesson began with attempting to hold the
airplane in straight-and-level flight. Walters set the power of
that 65-horsepower Continental engine and told me that I
could maintain altitude by keeping the bottoms of the wings
parallel to the horizon. He also had me look back and forth
between the right and left wings to ensure that there was the
same amount of space between each wing tip and the horizon.
This, I learned, was the best way to know that the wings were
level and the airplane was not turning. I confirmed that I was
maintaining a constant heading by observing that the nose
was not moving left or right across the horizon.
It was only after I learned to maintain straight-and-level
flight using just aircraft attitude as a reference that I was
allowed to refer to the altimeter and the tachometer.
Walters taught me to turn by initially asking me to keep
my feet flat on the floor. While heading toward a prominent
landmark on the horizon, he asked me to use only the ailerons
to begin a left or right turn. “Watch the landmark,” he would
AOPA PILOT • 28 • JUNE 2011
demand. “Do you see how it moves the wrong way?
This is adverse yaw effect, and now you know why
there’s a rudder on this machine.” He proclaimed
this proudly, as if he had personally discovered
the fact. “Use the rudder to prevent the nose from
moving in the wrong direction.” And so it was that
he taught me to turn without ever looking at anything
in the cockpit. Rolling in and out of turns
with reference to landmarks helped me to quickly
develop rudder coordination and proficiency.
I enjoyed gliding flight the most. After applying
carburetor heat and throttling the engine to idle,
Walters had me hold the same attitude I had used
in straight-and-level flight. Once I learned to do
that, he would say, “OK, now. Just lower the nose a
little bit, and you’ll be gliding in the most efficient
manner.” He never mentioned glide speed or allowed me to
look at the airspeed indicator until I had learned to glide, make
gliding turns, and level off with the outside world as my sole
reference.
Climbing, of course, was taught from straight-and-level
flight. He had me aim at some distant point, open the throttle
fully and then raise the nose with the wings level until the
cowling was touching the horizon. He didn’t discuss the leftturning
tendency of the airplane until after I had discovered it
for myself. “Hey, Mike,” I yelled from the front seat, “How come
the nose keeps moving left even though the wings are level?”
He yelled back that he would explain this on the ground and
then asked, “How can you stop that movement?” I apparently
said the right thing because I got a pat on the top of my head,
far preferable to when I screwed up and got whacked on the
side of my head with a rolled-up aeronautical chart.
Students of my era learned to fly by looking out the win-
dow and using the controls to achieve the desired visual result.
The altimeter and airspeed indicator—those were the only
available flight instruments—were used only as occasional
references. They were never used to fly the airplane. Attitude
and the basics were more important than numbers.
Is this method of teaching someone to fly better than pre-
senting a student with an instrument panel that looks more
like a computer monitor than an airplane? I think it is, and if
I were teaching someone to fly in a technologically advanced
airplane (TAA), I would be inclined to cover the instrument
panel almost entirely so that only the necessities were visible.
I would teach someone to fly the way Mike Walters taught me.
As a matter of fact, if I were king of the FAA, I would require
manufacturers of glass cockpits to provide a switch that hid
all of the fancy stuff and allowed instructors to teach people
to fly without technological distractions.
Perhaps I really am an aeronautical dinosaur.
Visit the author’s website (www.barryschiff.com).
http://www.barryschiff.com
AOPA Pilot Magazine - June 2011

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