'I should just quit'

By: Jill W. Tallman

Five reasons why you shouldn't

You come home from a flight lesson, throw your bag down on the floor heedless of the damage you might cause to your headset, and plop into your favorite chair. A thought has been weighing heavily on your mind since you buttoned up the airplane, and finally “I should just quit.”

We hope you’ve never had this experience, but many student pilots do, and many of those eventually will follow their impulse and drift away from flying. Some may return years later—but some will hang up their headsets for good. There were 61,194 student pilot certificates issued in all of 2008, down from 66,953 in 2007. And by some estimates, only about a third of those who start learning to fly will actually earn a pilot certificate.

Some obstacles can’t easily be overcome—starting a family is probably the frontrunner on that list—but others are more readily conquered. What you need is a little help and a counterargument to present to your inner naysayer for those times when doubts creep in. As Bob Dylan said, “What looks large from a distance, close up ain’t never that big.”

So here are some of the most common reasons student pilots drop out, coupled with some strategies for beating back the devil.

1: “I don’t like my instructor.”

Variations on this theme include “My instructor doesn’t understand me,” and “My instructor and I don’t get along.” Communications problems between CFI and student can be resolved, but to do that, you’ve got to actually communicate. Talk to your instructor about your concerns. If he or she doesn’t seem to understand how you best learn, show and/or tell: “I’d like you to demonstrate this before I try it.” Bring in the flight school manager or owner if necessary, and remember that you are the customer. The flight school and instructor work for you (see “Bad Instructor or Bad Match?” April 2008 AOPA Flight Training).

If he yells, falls asleep in the cockpit, or just doesn’t seem to care, he isn’t the one for you. Find another CFI.

2: I will never learn to land.

You’ve spent hour upon hour, lesson upon lesson, and your instructor still has to correct you right on down to the point where the airplane’s main tires touch. Two approaches to try:

• Take a break. Focus on other maneuvers for a lesson or two, then return to landings.
• Get a second opinion. If you can’t understand what it is that prevents you from successfully executing a landing, steep turn, or other maneuver, ask another CFI to go up with you. Sometimes a different perspective and a different way of explaining the mechanics are all it takes to make something click. And your CFI won’t mind; this is, after all, what happens during stage checks in a Part 141 school.

3: I’m scared of _________ (winds, stall recovery).

A student pilot with 22 hours under his belt admitted he couldn’t get comfortable with the way the airplane moved around in the air, and he could no longer balance that fearfulness with his desire to learn to fly.

At 22 hours, everything is still new and strange, even if you’ve soloed. Some nervousness is natural. But if a specific aspect of flying is causing you trepidation, by all means seek out another pilot—a mentor or your CFI—to talk about it. And if you don’t get the answers you’re looking for, keep asking until you do. Pilot forums, aviation publications, or the pilot’s lounge at the airport are all good places to try.

I recall feeling alarmed at how my low-wing trainer reacted to gusty winds. I didn’t feel in control, and I didn’t like it. A high-time pilot colleague (who was also a CFI) put it in perspective by explaining that in windy conditions, the airplane acts much like a boat bobbing up and down in the water. That mental image was all it took to help me understand what was happening and know how to react to it (see “I Shouldn’t Have Quit,” opposite).

Similarly, stall recovery plagues many student pilots. There’s something disconcerting about hanging in the air with
your airplane’s nose at an extreme angle (for power-on stalls) while you struggle to keep that ball centered and the wings level. Discuss the maneuver on the ground. Ask your CFI to demonstrate one first, or have him or her show you how to bring the nose up while simultaneously adding power to produce a power-on stall that isn’t so dramatic.

4: I’m running out of money, and this is taking too long.

Few pilots come into aviation expecting to pay whatever it takes, over however long it takes, to get that coveted pilot certificate. Even though the FAA cautions that 40 hours for a private certificate and 20 hours for a sport pilot certificate are minimums, we’re justifiably worried when the bills keep coming in and checkride day seems off in the distance.

Do you have enough hours to take the sport or recreational pilot checkride, then upgrade at a later date? (For the sport pilot, you’ll need a sport-eligible aircraft for the checkride.) If funds are dwindling and you haven’t met the requirements for your checkride, ask the flight school about a payment plan to finish up. And if all else fails, see the suggestions in the next paragraph.

5: Circumstances keep getting in the way. Maybe this isn’t meant to be.

If it looks like you’ll be grounded (for whatever reason, for whatever length of time), plan for how you’ll keep your edge. Set aside time to study the federal aviation regulations; if you haven’t taken the FAA knowledge test for the rating or certificate you seek, this may be your prime opportunity. Take an online AOPA Air Safety Foundation course or two, or as many as you like—they’re free! Fly a desktop simulator and practice maneuvers, or instrument approaches, or cross-country navigation. Find an empty right seat at the airport and ask if you can ride along. If your flight school permits it, ask to ride along with another student on a lesson. You’ll learn a lot by watching other pilots.

The aviation forums are riddled with tales of pilots who experienced ceaseless encounters with bad weather, different flight instructors, broken aircraft, and all of the other monkey wrenches that life seems to throw in the way of our learning to fly. They persevered, and so can you. With determination and patience, you’ll get through.

Jill W. Tallman is associate editor of AOPA Flight Training and AOPA Pilot magazines. She is an instrument-rated private pilot.

I shouldn’t have quit

In 1976 my wife and I were living in Bridgeport, Connecticut, not far from Sikorsky Memorial Airport. The flying bug began to bite. I bought a copy of the Pilot’s Handbook of Aeronautical Knowledge and carried it everywhere I went. After sniffing around the airport for prospective flight schools, I signed up for private pilot ground school.

This was a very big step for me. I had grown up in a broken family and had major confidence issues. Although I did not go into flying in order to boost
my self-confidence, each successful flight did just that. I was doing the right thing without knowing it.

In due course I soloed a Cessna 150, a great day in anyone’s life. Then I backslid. I didn’t have enough confidence to solo the airplane again. But I kept flying dual, and things were moving along. One day we returned from a practice flight. I was lined up on final and doing OK. The tower had cleared us to land. Concentrating, I suddenly felt the controls move. I looked to my right. My instructor’s hands were on the controls, and he was looking up and to the right. I looked too, and then I understood. Above and to our right was another airplane on final!

John banked us away; we rejoined the pattern and landed. He said later that he had been looking at the ground and had seen two shadows. He looked up, and there it was.

But I was shaken. Even though the other airplane was not so close that we could see its rivets, student pilots have a tendency to magnify events like this out of proportion. I did, and that’s when I made the biggest blunder of my aviation career: I quit. John tried to calm me with the big sky theory: “There’s a lot of sky out there.” But I was rattled. I went home and put my flying gear in the closet, way in the back.

About a year later my company bought a twin-engine Piper Navajo to fly parts and people between our factories in Connecticut and New Hampshire. I began flying in the right seat and, yep, the bug bit me again.

It had been nagging me that this was unfinished business. I had passed the knowledge test and it was going to run out soon. I dug out my gear and went back to the school. By then John had left, and after flying with an instructor who proved indifferent and clearly eager to be somewhere else, fate stepped in and they paired me with Ed.

Ed had been an instructor in the Civilian Pilot Training Program that began before World War II in order to build up a cadre of trained pilots in anticipation of the war everyone knew was coming. He was a real stick-and rudder guy, a low-key, endlessly patient instructor. A man of few words, when he spoke everyone stopped and listened. We began making rapid progress. I started flying by myself and felt great about it. One day while practicing landings, the airplane had a total flap failure—they just wouldn’t come down. I was not fazed, and just landed a little faster than usual. No sweat.

I did my long cross-country on a brilliant September day. I got lost and un-lost twice. When I landed back at Sikorsky, I felt 10 feet tall. Soon after I had a very successful checkride and emerged with a temporary certificate. For weeks afterward, I would go for a walk during lunch, pull out that little piece of paper, and say over and over, “I can’t believe I did this.”

Since then I’ve become a CFII and amassed more than 3,000 hours. I wouldn’t trade the experiences I’ve had, the people I’ve met, the airplanes I’ve flown, the places I’ve been—for anything. I simply cannot imagine a life without aviation. Whatever I spent on training has repaid itself beyond calculation, not just in flying, but in the confidence I gained that enabled me to do other things.

For you, the messages are simple: First, if you think you’d like to fly, then give it a real chance. Second, don’t overreact to a bad day as I did. And third, don’t quit.

Learning to fly is hard, and mistakes are inevitable. The twin powers of persistence and practice can help you overcome seemingly mammoth obstacles. And lastly, you’re not just learning about flying, you’re gaining valuable lessons in life!

Fred Simonds is a 3,000-hour CFII and assistant chief flight instructor with a flight school in southeast Florida.