As pilots we often go through periods of self-doubt, ranging from feeling like you’ve forgotten something to a compete crisis of confidence. I’ve certainly felt the former, and have had a couple of episodes that lent toward the latter.
The first was my initial flight after obtaining my RPC where I actually felt uneasy about flying straight and level for an extended period without having to practice something like steep turns, stalls or forced landings. I had trained so much for when things go wrong, that I found it difficult to accept nothing would.
There were enough holes in the Swiss cheese for them to align, and there’s always next week – I just hoped my mojo would make it.
This unease lingered through subsequent flights until I took my first passenger along for the ride, my brother, whose presence allowed me to enjoy the view and not dwell too much on the what-ifs, beyond diligently checking gauges and keeping an eye out for traffic. That’s where a bit of self-doubt can be healthy. It keeps you alert, but you don’t want it to completely erode confidence.
My desire to be a safe pilot sees me devour aviation magazines, websites, YouTube videos and podcasts, which have led me to discover America’s obsession with stalling and spins, and the countless advice pieces about avoiding them.
I know such content is meant to be helpful, but read enough of it and you start to question your own training. Instead of simply monitoring my airspeed at the business end of the circuit I became fixated on the ASI, not allowing the aircraft to settle and coming in a little too hot; which is counterproductive to being a safe pilot.
If they’re not stalling, Yanks seem pretty adept at finding new ways to die in aircraft, like attempting aerobatics 100ft over a lake, taking off in zero-visibility and hitting powerlines, or colliding with another aircraft after making a straight-in approach without a radio call.
I’ve read, seen and heard it all, but rather than learn from other people’s mistakes to avoid repeating them, I started worrying about exhibiting similar lacks of judgment – after all, it’s not like any of them set out to crash.
One Saturday, during my one-hour drive to Lethbridge, I was listening to the Aviation News Talk podcast whose main topic was go-arounds and included examples of poorly-executed aborted landings resulting in loss-of-control accidents.
I’ve done many a go-around and, while it’s an involved process, I never considered it a risky manoeuvre. But the self-doubt genie was again out of the bottle: “What if I have to go around today? Will I remember the flaps? What if I stall?”
A couple of other things were also playing on my mind. I hadn’t flown for a month, I had a bit of a headache and the weather, while flyable, had earlier prompted me to cancel the joyflight I promised my sister-in-law. Suddenly doubting my go-around prowess was the tipping point. I just didn’t feel right to fly, and promptly got back in the car.
Driving home part of me wished I had persisted, but I was satisfied I made the right call. There were enough holes in the Swiss cheese for them to align, and there’s always next week – I just hoped my mojo would make it.
What a difference a week makes
Fast forward the following Saturday; CAVOK, a limp windsock and a cool 15 degrees keeping turbulence in the ground. I kept my promise to my sister-in-law, and made a point of exuding confidence so she felt assured.
This required a little acting to begin with, but ended up being self-fulfilling. I managed to inspire myself, and it was the first time I truly enjoyed being in command of an aeroplane, rather than simply hoping for the best.
Sure, I had those nagging thoughts about stall speed, but I finally realised that being reasonably anxious about something is a good way to avoid it happening.
Yep, self-doubt has actually made me a more confident, and hopefully safer, pilot. My main worry now is getting cocky.