The two-seat model is primarily designed for flight training and owns European Union Aviation Safety Agency (EASA) CS-23 and FAA Part 23 certification. It is now certified under Transport Canada’s Part V Subpart 21, allowing Tecnam to begin deliveries to private owners and flight training organizations in the country.

Designed to train students from first flight until they earn their commercial pilot license, the P-Mentor includes a variable pitch propeller, simulated retractable landing gear, and ballistic parachute. It also comes with a Garmin touchscreen and avionics and is powered by a Rotax 912iSc3 engine.

The model supports both VFR and IFR training at a cost of operation of just 89 Canadian dollars ($64.71) per hour, by Tecnam’s estimate. That efficiency enables it to fly for about nine hours between refuelings.

The company also claims the P-Mentor can reduce flight school emissions by as much as 60 percent. The aircraft could represent a fresh injection into a fleet of training aircraft that is largely aging.

“We look forward to working with all the Canadian flight schools to improve the quality of training and support lowering hourly rates,” said Giovanni Pascale Langer, managing director of Tecnam.

During last year’s EAA AirVenture, Tecnam introduced the P-Mentor in North America after agreeing to a deal with EpicSky Flight Academy for the purchase of 15 aircraft. The company earned full FAA Part 23 certification just a few months later. It started U.S. deliveries in June, beginning with a shipment to Kansas-based Kilo Charlie Aviation.

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The post Tecnam Begins Canada P-Mentor Deliveries Following Certification appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The NTSB released its final report into the fatal April 2022 accident that occurred when the pilot was on approach to Burley Municipal Airport (KBYI). The aircraft collided with an exhaust stack that lies directly beneath the extended centerline of Runway 20. The accident happened shortly after 8:30 a.m. when it was snowing and IFR conditions prevailed.

According to the NTSB, the aircraft struck an agglomerate stack that measured 32 inches in diameter. Just beyond it was a group of six exhaust stacks. The smokestack, which is used to collect particulate emissions from the manufacturing process, is 100 feet above ground level.

According to the 24-page NTSB report, the FAA had been advised of the stacks as a potential hazard to aircraft in 2016 and had been working with the plant owner on mitigation measures. Those measures included decommissioning of the airport’s visual approach slope indicator (VASI), painting the exhaust stacks white and aviation orange to make them more visible, and adding an obstruction lighting on the tallest stack.

However, photographs of the stacks provided to the NTSB reveal no such paint scheme. 

In its 24-page final report, NTSB said its investigators, who did not travel to the accident site, could not determine if the obstruction light on the tallest exhaust stack was functioning at the time of the accident, as it was allegedly stolen from the scene by an individual who was not part of the official instigation. 

According to the NTSB report, this individual later appeared in a YouTube video with the light and discussed its use during the accident sequence. The video was shot in the individual’s home office several states away.

The local police department investigated the theft, which included reviewing the YouTube video. A copy of the YouTube video has been included in the public documents of the NTSB report. The NTSB states the YouTube individual later recanted his statements, saying the light he appeared on camera with was not the one from the crash site.

Accident Details

At the time of the accident, the Caravan pilot held a commercial certificate, had approximately 1,400 hours total time, and had been flying for less than six months for Gem Air LLC. As is protocol during an accident investigation, the NTSB reviewed the company’s training procedures.

According to the chief pilot of Gem Air, the company’s pilots were taught to use the Garmin vertical flight path indicator as an “advisory guidance” and to use the autopilot on nonprecision approaches both in VNAV and Approach mode. 

Company flight records indicated the pilot had flown to KBYI at least 12 times before the accident.

The accident happened as the pilot was attempting to fly the RNAV 20 approach, which takes the aircraft directly over the potato processing plant with numerous vent stacks constantly in operation.

The standard for airspeed after passing the final approach fix was 120 kias indicated, according to the Flight Maneuvers Description Manual (FMDM).

The FMDM also stated that “after passing the final approach fix inbound, begin descent to MDA or step-down fix, if applicable. Descent should be approximately 1,000 fpm [feet per minute] to ensure that you are at the next required altitude. Failure to make the descent to MDA in a timely manner may result in missing the opportunity to visually identify the airport in time to continue a normal descent to landing.”

The standard approach gradient for an instrument approach is 3.0 degrees. The approach plate for the RNAV 20 at KBYI notes the descent angle for the approach is 3.75 degrees. Pilots are taught that an approach gradient of more than 3.0 degrees is a good indication that there is an obstacle to avoid on the approach path. The Chart Supplement Directory for the airport noted this, using “stack” in the airport descriptor.

The steep gradient is also noted on the RNAV 20 approach plate.

The Aeronautical Information Manual warns pilots about the dangers of exhaust plumes both visible and invisible, as they can contribute to turbulence, wind shear, and reduced visibility. Pilots are advised to avoid flying over them.

Failure to Maintain Altitude

A security camera photograph showed the Caravan in a slightly nose-up attitude as it passed over the plant. A witness on the ground told NTSB investigators that the sound of the aircraft engine increased just moments before it collided with the exhaust stack.

The pilot failed to maintain altitude during an instrument approach, “which resulted in a descent below the approach path and impact with a vent stack,” the NTSB said in its conclusion determining the probable cause of the accident. “Also causal was the failure of the processing plant to correctly paint the vent stacks, which had been determined by the FAA to be a hazard to navigation due to their proximity to the landing approach path. Contributing to the accident was the likely distraction/illusion/obscuration created by steam from the processing plant, which intermittently obscured the runway.”

The post NTSB: Pilot Was Flying Too Low Before Hitting Smokestack in Idaho appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Answer: I advocate checking the weather and seeing what approaches are being supported by the conditions, then select an approach and file to an Initial Approach Fix (IAF) for that approach.

• READ MORE: How Do You Check NOTAMs?

The reason? Because you lose your comms en route or before you are cleared for the approach, you will be following the AVE F procedure, which states that in the event of loss of communication you will fly one of the four: the heading you were assigned, vectored to, told to expect or filed to. If you are operating on an IFR flight plan, you should have at least one of these. This is what ATC expects you to do, so they will be protecting that airspace at the fix you filed to.

If you simply fly to the airport and the airport has multiple instrument approaches and multiple IAFs, ATC is going to have a more difficult time protecting the airspace. It will be like Whac-a-Mole with airplanes. If you file to a particular IAF, and they see a target squawking 7600 at that fix, they will have a pretty good idea that’s you. Make sure you continue to transmit in the blind – this means you make appropriate radio calls and position reports although you cannot hear them reply.

• READ MORE: What Does It Take to Transition from a Jet to a Piston Airplane?

Bonus move: Adjust time en route by five minutes. For example, if it will take 23 minutes to get to the fix, file it as 17 minutes because that way you won’t have to wait for time to elapse in order to shoot the approach. 

Remember, you are requesting an approach when you file your flight plan. ATC is not obligated to grant your request, which is why you should have your approach binder with you (in either paper or electronic form). So if you are assigned something other than you filed, you will be prepared to fly what is offered.

The post Should I File an Initial Approach Fix? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Nick Sinopoli, the inventor of the ICARUS Device, a high-tech view limiting device, knew this only too well after losing a friend in an aviation accident in 2016.

ICARUS was introduced to the training environment three years ago and is now used around the world by both the military and private sector.

The company recently delivered an ICARUS Device to Helicopter Resources, a company that provides services to government organizations in Antarctica. The area is about 40 percent larger than Europe and about as remote as can be imagined. There are no roads, so helicopters are crucial to bringing in provisions for the 5,000 who live there as part of various research operations.

• READ MORE: ICARUS Device Enhances IFR Training

About the Device

The name ICARUS is an acronym, standing for Instrument Conditions Awareness Recognition and Understanding System. Sinopoli, who is rated in both helicopters and airplanes and holds an engineering degree from Purdue University, designed the device so that visibility is gradually reduced. It almost sneaks up on a pilot, just as it often happens in the real world and sometimes leads to accidents when the pilot loses situational awareness, especially in marginal VFR.

How It Works

According to Sinopoli, the ICARUS Device is made of a polymer dispersed liquid crystal (PDLC) film that the pilot wears in front of their eyes, either clamped onto a hat or headset or clipped into a flight helmet. 

The PDLC is battery powered, and the device is paired with an app controlled by the flight instructor. The instructor can degrade the visual conditions gradually, allowing the client to experience the sensation of a sudden loss of outside visual cues while flying in the actual aircraft. 

There is also the option for the CFII to press a button to bring on clouds. The rate and amount of occlusion can also be adjusted by the instructor for a more realistic IFR experience, such as the sudden loss of outside references when marginal VFR turns into IFR.

According to the company, there are 500 ICARUS devices in use around the world in every kind of aircraft from a Cessna 172 to a CH-47 Chinook Helicopter.

The device sells for $1,250 and comes with a three-year warranty.

The post ICARUS IFR Training Device Delivered to Antarctica appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Leonardo Helicopters’ AW109 Trekker is the first model to use the system with the new capabilities. The company said the enhanced version helps improve overall mission effectiveness by decreasing the pilot’s workload.

• READ MORE: Auto Flight for Rotorcraft

“We are very excited to now offer a four-axis, IFR flight control system for the helicopter market,” said Carl Wolf, Garmin’s vice president of aviation sales and marketing. “This technology will provide IFR operators with advanced automated flight capabilities and bring added protections to one of the most challenging flight categories in aviation. We’re confident AW109 Trekker operators will be impressed with the performance of GFC 600H.”

The GFC 600H includes a console-mounted, push-button mode controller and display compatible with night vision goggles. High-performance digital servos and new linear actuators that Garmin developed provide crisper, more powerful responses than previous systems, resulting in smooth handling in all phases of flight.

• READ MORE: Garmin Receives GI 275 STC for Airbus Helicopters

The new system supports a range of autopilot modes, including altitude acquire, altitude hold, heading select, attitude hold, approach auto-level, radar height hold, vertical speed, and indicated airspeed. The system also can fly approaches using inputs from navigation systems.

Garmin said its system’s smart servos eliminate the need for two linear actuators and flight control computers for each axis. The result is a lighter, cost-effective system that retains the redundancy needed for IFR flight.

The IFR configuration of the GFC 600H has received European Union Aviation Safety Agency (EASA) approval on the AW109 Trekker helicopter. Garmin said it expects FAA approval later.

The post Garmin Offers IFR Flight Control System for Helicopters appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Answer: The answer to your question lies under both FAR 91.205 and FAR 91.207. FAR 91.205 lists the instruments required for daytime VFR flight, where most flight training starts. 

In order to be legal for daytime VFR flight, the aircraft needs a functioning airspeed indicator, oil pressure gauge for each engine, manifold pressure gauge for each engine, altimeter, temperature gauge for each liquid-cooled engine, oil temperature gauge for each engine, working fuel gauge, landing gear position indicator if the aircraft has retractable landing gear, magnetic compass, and safety belts. If the aircraft was certificated after March 11, 1996 it also needs to have an anti collision beacon.

• READ MORE: IFR vs VFR: What’s the Difference?

Under FAR 91.207, you will see reference to an emergency locator transmitter (ELT), which is required on training aircraft with certain exceptions, such as when the aircraft is being ferried to a place where repairs or replacement can be made or when it is engaged in training operations conducted entirely within a 50 nm radius from the airport from which local flight operation began.

That’s an awful lot to remember. So, you will likely be learning the phrase—A TOMATO FLAMES—to recall these items:

• Anti Collision beacon (if aircraft certificated after March 11, 1996) 
• Tachometer
• Oil pressure
• Magnetic compass
• Airspeed
• Temp gauge for engine
• Oil temp
• Fuel gauge
• Landing gear position (if appropriate)
• Altimeter
• Manifold pressure gauge (if appropriate)
• ELT
• Seat belts

The post Do Missing Instruments Ground an Airplane? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Early in training, I made a night instrument takeoff from Lunken Airport (now KLUK) in Ohio, using a runway adjacent to a hillside with traffic on a busy highway at the base and well-lit neighborhoods climbing the slope. I unearthed a hood that was extra wide and allowed me to cheat a little with a glimpse of terrain on the sides. What seemed like a great idea was a bad mistake and an excellent lesson in vertigo. As I began to climb, I was almost hypnotized—totally confused—by moving lights I could see under the left side of the hood. I’m pretty sure we would have flown into the hill if Roger hadn’t taken the controls…and, yes, smacked me on the head.

The test presented some challenges—in night training I hadn’t experienced the turbulence of sunny, hot afternoons. Inspector Ropp and I weren’t using headsets and, unfortunately, he’d eaten something with lots of garlic the night before. On the plus side, it was pretty simple since I had one VOR receiver for approaches and holds. And, yes, I passed!

No, wait, that was the test in 1967.

In those days, the normal progression of certificates and ratings took you from private pilot to commercial, to flight instructor, and then you went on for an instrument rating. It was five years from the time I became a genuine private pilot in 1962 to accumulate the time and pass the writtens and flight tests for the commercial certificate and a flight instructor rating. And getting that CFI was critical because the only way I could eat regularly and earn enough to keep flying was to instruct. And, boy, did I instruct…about 6,000 hours total over the next 10 years.

First, I worked part time for Cincinnati Aircraft, a Cessna dealer. The Cessna 150s and 172s were great trainers but had the world’s worst radios—the Cessna 300 series. We reentered traffic patterns on lights nearly as often as we did communicating over the radio waves with the tower. When the Midwest winter was grounding the airplanes, owner Witham Smith demanded those of us with instrument ratings file IFR, climb above the overcast, give an hour of basic dual, make a VOR approach into Greater Cincinnati Airport (KCVG), and then fly VFR underneath the 13 miles back to Lunken. At best, an “hour” of dual was closer to two. I “declined,” got fired, instructed for Johnny Lane at Lebanon (I68), and then started my own flight school.

Well, fast-forward 56 years and here I am back at it again. During the year of enforced downtime after the “bridge” revocation, I crammed and passed the private and (wickedly brutal) instrument writtens. Then, on Christmas Eve 2021, I did the private practical in a Cessna 150. So, I assumed getting the instrument rating in my Cessna 180 would be a piece of cake. Wrong again.

• READ MORE: Martha Lunken Earns Her Wings (Again)

At risk of boring you with a lengthy tale of woe, it was another year before the airplane and I felt the sprinkle of holy water. I sat out a lengthy annual inspection in January and February and miserable weather during the Midwest’s February and March. But late in March 2022, I hooked up with Steve Reinhardt, a CFI who is consummately patient and intimately familiar with my Garmin GNS 430 (about which I knew little more than “direct-to”) and ForeFlight (which was a total mystery). Best of all, Steve doesn’t hit students on the head. Then my elderly DG failed, so I put 72B in the shop for installation of two flush-mounted Garmin G5s. Three weeks passed, and I was struggling to learn the equipment while precisely hand flying my “very light on the controls” 1956 Cessna 180. And the various intricate approaches and holds were at airports about 10 miles apart—it was a bitch!

Next, a guy ran into the tail of the 180 on the ground at Lebanon, and it would be close to a month until we got the vertical stabilizer and rudder back from Williams Airmotive in northern Indiana. They’re great people with an outstanding shop for control surfaces. At one point, a very special guy named Dean Mallory, who hangs out at Waynesville’s Red Stewart Airfield (40I), offered me the use of his Cessna 182. Talk about friends!

But the delay wasn’t only damage, avionics installations, and weather. It was a steep learning curve for me to master the intricacies of the Garmin equipment and ForeFlight. More than once, I nearly lost heart.

GPS technology wasn’t intuitive for me. Thermals on sunny days below 4,000 feet made for lots of turbulence, and the variety of approach procedures and holds mandated by the FAA at three or four airports within 10 miles of each other was difficult. I was scrambling to enter the information and push the right buttons while trying to hand fly the 180 precisely on altitudes and headings.

Yeah, I did it, and Steve recommended me one month short of my 81st birthday, and I flew a no-holds-barred, good practical test with Brian Trapp at John Lane Field (I68) in Lebanon, Ohio. Brian holds more designations than anyone in my experience and travels across the country—even to remote places like the Fiji islands—as an examiner, administering everything from medical check rides to re-exams and every conceivable airplane and lighter-than-air certificate or rating. Additionally, he owns and operates the Gentle Breeze Hot Air Balloon Co. with his talented and delightful pilot/partner, Laurie Givin. Brian knows his stuff, cutting no corners on the test.

Was so much time, effort, and expense worth it. Yes! Steve pounded the intricacies of the GPS equipment and procedures into my head, and I became more adept at precision flying in the 180. So many people kept me going—superb instructor Reinhardt, Mallory (“Hey, use my airplane.”), Flying Neutrons Club members at I68 (many of whom I’d certificated), IA mechanic Mark Day, and Givin, and Trapp, who flew in late the night before from Phoenix for the test.

As Henry Ford rightly said, “Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t—you’re right.”

This column first appeared in the October 2023/Issue 942 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Martha’s Return to IFR Skies appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

It was dark when he approached Steamboat Springs. Cleared for the RNAV (GPS)-E approach for Runway 32 at Bob Adams Field (KSBS), he began his descent 20 minutes out, turned eastward at the initial approach fix, HABRO, and then northward at MABKY intersection.

The design of the approach brings you up a valley between high terrain to the east—where a number of peaks rise above 10,000 feet—and 8,250-foot Quarry, aka Emerald Mountain, to the west. The final approach fix (FAF), PEXSA, is aligned with the runway; the 5.4 nm leg from MABKY to PEXSA, however, is oriented at 353 degrees and requires a left turn of 30 degrees onto the 4.6 nm final approach course.

The field elevation at KSBS is 6,882 feet. Category A minimums are nominally 1,300 and 1¼ with a minimum descent altitude of 8,140 feet. The missed approach, begun at the runway threshold, calls for a climbing left turn back to HABRO at 11,300 feet.

The descent profile specifies crossing altitudes of 9,700 feet at the FAF and 8,740 feet at an intermediate fix, WAKOR, 2.4 nm from the FAF. From WAKOR to the threshold is 2.2 nm. Once passing WAKOR, the pilot could step down to the minimum altitude and start looking for the runway.

The Meridian tracked the ground path of the approach with electronic precision. The profile was not so perfect. The airplane crossed the FAF at 9,100 feet, 600 feet below the required altitude. At WAKOR it was 540 feet low and for all practical purposes already at the minimum allowable altitude for the approach.

At WAKOR, rather than continue straight ahead toward the runway, the Meridian began a left turn, similar to the turn required for the missed approach but 2 miles short of the prescribed missed approach point. The ground track of the turn, executed at standard rate, had the same machine-like precision as previous phases of the approach—but not the profile. Rather than immediately climb to 11,300 feet, as the missed approach required, the Meridian continued to descend, reaching 7,850 feet, less than 1,000 feet above the field elevation. It then resumed climbing but not very rapidly. One minute after beginning the left turn at 8,200 feet and on a heading of 164 degrees, it collided with Quarry Mountain. At the time of impact, the landing gear was in the process of being retracted.

When the Meridian arrived in the vicinity of Steamboat, the weather had deteriorated to 1,200 feet overcast and 1 mile visibility—below minimums for the approach. The National Transportation Safety Board limited its finding of probable cause to the statement that the pilot had failed to adhere to the published approach procedure and speculated that he had become aware of the below-minimums conditions only during the approach. Indeed, he would have become aware of the low ceiling by the time he reached WAKOR because he was already practically at the minimum descent altitude there.

He was apparently unprepared for this unexpected development.

The Meridian was equipped with a lot of fancy avionics that recorded every detail of the approach, and the accident docket includes extensive graphic depictions of those records. (These are not included in the published report.) What is striking about them is the contrast between the undeviating steadiness of headings and the large random fluctuations in airspeed, vertical speed, and altitude, which are evidently being controlled by the pilot. During the last two and a half minutes of the flight, the Meridian’s airspeed fluctuated between 89 and 110 knots and its pitch attitude between minus-5 and plus-10 degrees. Approaching WAKOR, its vertical speed was zero. Crossing WAKOR and beginning the left turn, the vertical speed first dipped to 1,500 fpm down, then, 10 seconds later, corrected to 1,300 fpm up. Ten seconds after that, it slumped again to zero before shooting back up to 1,500 fpm, holding that rate momentarily and then dropping again. The impact occurred a few seconds later.

The pilot’s logbook, which recorded 580 hours total time with 43 hours of simulated instruments and 45 hours of actual, contained four instances of this same GPS approach in the month preceding the accident. In some of those log entries, no actual instrument time was recorded, and at least two of them ended with a low approach but no landing. In some, if not all, of those approaches, the pilot was evidently practicing in VMC. Plots of two of those approaches, one a month earlier and the other a week earlier, display the same precision in ground track as the one that led to the accident, so it appears that he was relying on his autopilot for horizontal navigation.

• READ MORE: When VFR Turns into IFR

Being based at KSBS and having repeatedly flown the approach in good weather, the pilot would have been aware that the terrain below him never rose above 7,000 feet. He might therefore have believed, consciously or unconsciously, that as long as he didn’t get much below 8,000 feet, he wasn’t going to collide with anything. That idea could have factored into his starting the missed approach 2 miles short of the runway. Or perhaps he simply forgot about Quarry Mountain. Or, possibly, he made the decision to miss at WAKOR and began the turn without even reflecting that an important element of any missed approach is the location at which it starts.

His unsteady control of airspeed and pitch attitude, and his failure to retract the landing gear until a full minute after beginning the miss, suggest a pilot unaccustomed to balked approaches and now struggling with a novel situation. Anticipating VFR conditions, he had not filed an alternate and would now have to make a new plan and execute it in the air.

The difference between simulated instrument flying and the real thing—compounded, in this case, by darkness—is difficult for novice instrument pilots to imagine. It is not just a matter of the complexity of the required actions. It is the effect that anxiety, uncertainty, or surprise may have on your own capabilities. What looks like a dry script on a piece of paper can become a gripping drama—comedy or tragedy—when the human protagonist steps onto the stage.

This column first appeared in the September 2023/Issue 941 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Dissecting a Tragedy in the Third Dimension appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Although the statement may be a slight embellishment, it gave me pause for contemplation. Decision fatigue is one of Reeves’ iconic concepts. The theory is that humans, and more importantly pilots, have the capability of making only a finite number of good decisions in one day.

Well, I gotta admit not having to choose attire for every trip reduced my preflight workload. Perhaps my less-than-desirable landings at the end of a flight now have an explanation…or at least they have a new basis for rationalization. The decision fatigue theory is just one of many out-of-the-box concepts that Reeves presents.

Another favorite instructional concept from Reeves is to declare an emergency before the situation really becomes one. I couldn’t agree more. A higher-than-normal oil temperature may not be a major problem in the moment, but if the circumstance leads to a rapid loss in oil pressure, an engine failure is sure to follow.

So, who is the Guy in the Pink Shirt? Gary Dale Reeves has been instructing for more than two decades. One of his notable claims to fame is being named the 2019 national CFI of the year. He is also an FAA Safety Team lead representative. His focus is combining avionics technology with real-life IFR flying. He is a computer geek and a passionate flight instructor. He is an animated and entertaining public speaker. Garmin, Avidyne, ForeFlight, and Genesys S-Tec autopilots are all part of his expertise.

Reeves’ website offers videos of actual in-flight IFR instruction. His flagship product is a three-day course using a client’s airplane for the sole purpose of mastering the installed avionics to fly single pilot safely and comfortably in IFR conditions. He will come to you, or you can come to him.

Much of Reeves’ philosophy, “Mastery, Not Minimums,” is explained in his book, Single-Pilot IFR Pro Tips. For airline pilots engaging or reengaging in the general aviation world, this is a must-read. The book provides a perspective beyond traditional airline thinking, especially given the fact an experienced copilot is no longer part of the equation.

It’s not my intent for this column to be an infomercial, but for those of us having spent decades involved with professional flying, we encounter only a handful of instructors that make a lasting impression on our aviation psyche. Perhaps these folks share a common denominator.

In Reeves’ circumstance, a diverse background prior to establishing himself in his current vocation is most likely what defined some of his unique perspectives. His attraction to aviation was launched with a flight on Braniff Air Lines. While in grade school, his dad began taking flying lessons and allowed Reeves the opportunity to observe. On one notable flight aboard a Cessna 172, a stall was presented. Rather than recoil in fear at the experience, he asked for another demonstration.

Reeves began his career as a paramedic, which ultimately set the foundation for his methodical approach to handling high-stress situations. In his late 20s, an experience during an introductory ride with a reckless instructor who unexpectedly demonstrated a power-on stall discouraged his initial entry to aviation.

The event left an impression that most likely molded his conduct as a professional instructor. Despite the experience, he began to take flying lessons, eventually becoming a private pilot.

As an entrepreneur, Reeves saw a demand that no one thought to address and created an animal ambulance company. Although the company was successful, it consumed his life. Flying airplanes became his stress relief. At the ripe, old age of 32, he sold the business and escaped to Las Vegas after reading an ATP Flight School advertisement for a 10-day course that provided instruction to attain CFI, CFII, and MEI ratings.

• READ MORE: Webinar Aims to Help CFIs Help Airline Pilots Return to GA

As well as being frequently self-deprecating with his anecdotal stories, Reeves didn’t give himself high marks as a first-year flight instructor. That said, he committed the ultimate aviation sin and bought a flight school, operating the business for six years. He began to realize that his forte was not teaching students how to perform a chandelle but rather the art of IFR. Combining his technology geekiness with real-life instrument flying, he found a niche.

After becoming an expert, instructing students on the Garmin GNS 430, Reeves was approached by Avidyne to be its authorized training representative. Genesys S-Tec autopilots and Aspen Avionics also became part of his repertoire. Although he considers John and Martha King friends, he distinguishes their video training as controlled studio productions versus his actual onboard-the-airplane slices of real life.

One of Reeves’ philosophical arguments is that there is no value in critical analysis of an accident. Analysis may shed light on the mistakes made, but it’s possible that with the same circumstances, another pilot might react exactly the same. Why? Because in an emergency situation a flood of adrenalin can cause a state of paralysis where logical reasoning is suppressed.

According to Reeves, a medical study compared this adrenalin influx to a blood-alcohol level 50 percent above the legal driving limit. In that regard, he is a huge proponent of using the autopilot whenever possible. Another concept that is difficult for even airline pilots to utter is “unable,” especially for a weather avoidance situation.

For single-pilot IFR operations, as a change in mindset regarding alternate airport selection, Reeves’ recommended technique is to pick three airports rather than the legal requirement of usually just one. First, select a point on the route approximately halfway to the destination. Then locate an airport near that point with adequate facilities—fuel, hotels, dining, transportation, etc.

With today’s availability of obtaining onboard weather data, it shouldn’t come as a surprise if the destination’s ceiling or visibility begins to deteriorate. Why hassle with the stressful tasks of a potential holding pattern, a missed approach, and a flight to an unscheduled destination with less fuel in the tanks? Divert early to the halfway point airport instead.

Using this technique, the destination alternate is used as a contingency for a disabled airplane on the runway or other such unpredictable circumstance.

The third alternate airport is for takeoff. For airline operations, a takeoff alternate is only required if the weather is below landing minimums. With single-pilot IFR operations, a takeoff alternate is used if a mechanical or other such problem occurs and a return to the departure airport is not a practical option.

So, where did the pink shirt idea come from? Apparently, Reeves had decided to change his usual attire at EAA AirVenture in Oshkosh. Considering his flight instruction focus, someone appropriately called him “GPS”—Guy in the Pink Shirt.

Some may find fault with all or parts of Reeves’ techniques, but you have to agree that they are based in sound logic and practicality. He is certainly receptive to other opinions as he combines conventional aviation training with innovative thinking.

In that regard, that’s why pink is the new magenta.

This column first appeared in the September 2023/Issue 941 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post ‘Guy in the Pink Shirt’ Promotes Out-of-the-Box Thinking for Pilots appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The CFI was new to the craft. He told the chief that the learner’s medical certificate had the limitation “night flying prohibited” printed on it. The CFI interpreted this to mean the learner was not allowed to fly after dark, and he didn’t want to risk his certificate by flying with the learner after sundown.

The learner had a color vision challenge, and the aviation medical examiner added the limitation to his medical certificate to reflect this. The learner said it was his understanding that his color vision might make night flight challenging, which was why he couldn’t be the pilot in command (PIC) at night, but he was still required to do the training, not only to satisfy the requirements for the certificate, but also to prepare him just in case he was caught out after dark. He was correct.

The training could take place because the instructor is PIC on dual instructional flights. The task became how to provide the best instruction for this particular learner while meeting the requirements.

Training for Night Flight

Training for night flight usually begins with a review of the challenges, such as reduced visual acuity, reduced depth perception, inability to see clouds, and understanding the required lighting for both outside and inside the cockpit.

Learners know they will need a flashlight for the lesson. I recommend one with a white light for doing the preflight inspection if it is after dark and one with a colored lens—red, blue, green or amber—for in the cockpit. I remind them the light on their smartphone won’t work in the cockpit because it is white light that destroys your night vision for 30 minutes (or more) after exposure.

• READ MORE: Scenarios for Training

When Does Night Begin?

FAR 1.1 defines night as the “time between the end of evening civil twilight and the beginning of morning civil twilight, as published in the Air Almanac, converted to local time.”

Note the time of sunset locally because nav lights are required between sunset and sunrise, and we can start logging night experience one hour after sunset to one hour before sunrise—used for night currency and carrying passengers. One popular way to ease the learner into the world of night flight is to take off just before sunset, so they can watch how the scenery changes and their eyes adjust.

The color-challenged learner found it very useful to note the roads adjacent to the local airports that helped him spot the rotating beacons and then the runways. The learner noted that he was glad to have the training “just in case,” but he planned to take care to make sure he was back on the ground an hour before sunset.

Three Hours of Instrument Training

The three hours of flight by reference to instruments only is another one of those ”just-in-case” requirements for private pilots. Yet there are those learners who balk at this training, saying they will only fly on good weather days, therefore, they don’t need it. Famous last words. The accident reports at NTSB.gov are filled with VFR into IMC situations. I bet those pilots didn’t intend to fly into bad weather—but it happened.

The three hours under the view-limiting device should be done gradually, as instrument flying can be very mentally fatiguing—especially at first. The concept of scan, cross-check, and instrument interpretation is best introduced in bite-sized chunks. I suggest not more than 10 minutes of hood time during the flight when it is introduced, as the learners grasp the use of the attitude indicator, heading indicator, altimeter, etc. Each subsequent flight will include more hood time focusing on climbs, turns, descents, and basic navigation. It’s very easy to fly visually, then put the learner under the hood for a few minutes, then return to visual flight. 

Keep in mind that IMC doesn’t just come from clouds. One summer there was a sudden onset of a smoke event caused by a wildfire in Seattle. Although the reported weather at the airport was VFR, a savvy flight instructor obtained an IFR clearance and taught a private pilot candidate to fly the RNAV into the home airport under the hood because, frankly, although the AWOS was reporting 4 to 6 miles from the air, it was “deceptively crappy” as my former chief used to say.

Often experiences like this lead to the learner pursuing an instrument rating, keeping in mind the most important skill for a noninstrument-rated pilot to have is the ability to read a weather report and correctly interpret the information.

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