By Steve Krog, EAA 173799
This piece originally ran in Steve’s Classic Instructor column in the May 2023 issue of EAA Sport Aviation magazine.
Why would anyone want to become a flight instructor? Flight students, parents of flight students, and pilot friends frequently ask me that question. The hours are long, the pay is poor, and the only vacation is when the weather is much too foul to enjoy any desired outdoor hobbies.
I love to fly, and I especially enjoy sharing the love of flight through teaching others the joy of maneuvering an airplane and sharing the beauty from the air. Seeing the world in three dimensions rather than two is something most people miss by not flying.
There are times, though, when I question my own sanity for pursuing this line of work. I’ve been in love with airplanes and flying since I learned what an airplane was. However, sharing the love of flight with some students can be a true test of courage, while questioning whether you would have been better off teaching white water rafting. Pappy Boyington coined the phrase, “Flying is hours and hours of boredom sprinkled with a few seconds of sheer terror.” But that does not apply to flight instructing unless you become very lax. It’s always challenging, though, and keeps you on your toes.
From time to time I have encountered situations that create that moment of sheer terror. Early in my aviation career, I taught in a flight school associated with a university. The training was done under FAA Part 61 rather than FAA Part 141. Students often took the flight course because they thought it would be an easy A.
At the beginning of each semester, I would have seven to 10 new students. The first flight lesson was given several days before the regular classes began, so it was common to give lesson No. 1 six or seven times the first day. One day I had given the introductory lesson six times and was now on my seventh student.
After demonstrating the various controls and how each affected flight, I would then demonstrate the importance of trim. Each student was directed to hold the aircraft in level flight while I adjusted the trim all the way to the “UP” position. The student would be pushing hard on the yoke attempting to keep the aircraft level. After a few seconds I would then adjust the trim all the way to the “DOWN” position. Now the student was pulling hard on the yoke keeping the nose on the horizon.
By the time I got to the seventh student of the day the routine was rote, and I let my guard down. While going through the trim demonstration, the previous students nodded, letting me know they understood. The seventh student surprised me, though. After adjusting the trim to the full “DOWN” position and seeing him nod that he understood what trim can do to ease the pilot load, he let go of the yoke.
WHAM! That poor tired Cessna 150 instantly executed the first half of an outside loop. Pencils, coins, sunglasses, and other cabin paraphernalia were flying everywhere. I grabbed the yoke, pulled the power to idle, and rolled the 150 back into an upright level attitude. I then checked to see if both wings were still attached. Nothing appeared to be amiss, so we gently eased the aircraft back to the airport and on the ground. The student was at first a bit shaken, but I eased his mind while trying to hide my uncontrollably shaking hands.
After the student left and the aircraft was back in the hangar, I told our mechanic what happened. He grounded the plane for a day to check everything over and determined all was well. The cabin area had about 5 pounds of litter shaken loose by the unanticipated maneuver. It certainly taught me a valuable lesson to never let your guard down when flying with a student.
Another time while instructing at this facility, I inherited a student from another instructor. He informed me he was having a difficult time with the student and was leery of soloing the person. I agreed to fly with the student the next day. The pattern work and landings were near perfect, so I asked the student to taxi up to the ramp and let me out. The student was not only excited but also expressed a bit of an overconfident attitude. This event took place in early March, and the snowbanks were about 3 feet high along the ramp’s edge. The student began taxiing and apparently never looked up, as in the next instant the 150 was buried in 3 feet of snow.
With help we recovered the aircraft and had it thoroughly inspected, and it was pronounced fit to fly. I suggested to the student that we’d try this again the next day. The weather was beautiful the next afternoon, and the winds were calm. I completed three takeoffs and landings with the student and then exited the airplane, giving instructions to complete three more takeoffs and landings. The student was directed to taxi back to the hangar upon completion.
The takeoffs and landings were near perfect. The student began taxiing back to the hangar, and I notified several people at the hangar of the student’s successful first solo. We all stepped outside to offer a thumbs-up. The overconfident student looked over, smiled, and proceeded to run the right wing directly into the corner post of the hangar. The student exited the airplane, walked directly to the parking lot, and left, never to return. This was another lesson learned. It’s important for an instructor to prevent students from getting too cocky.
Several years ago, I had a recently retired gentleman come to Cub Air wanting to obtain a private pilot certificate. He owned his own tailwheel airplane but had never flown it. He spent all day every day at the airport and would study between training flights. After soloing and then completing the dual cross-country flight, I had him plan and fly a solo cross-country flight. It was a triangular course that should take about three hours with four hours of fuel on board.
It was a beautiful summer day with a light breeze, so I thought the flight would be easy for him and he’d be back by midafternoon. Three hours passed by and no sign of the student. Then four hours passed and still no sign of the student. At five hours, I was pacing in front of the hangar and awaiting a phone call telling me the student was in some farm field. Finally, at about the six-hour point, I heard and then spotted the Cub approaching from the south. The student landed and was all smiles, saying it was a great flight. I proceeded to have a bit of a chat with him to explain my concern. He just nodded and explained that one of the airports I sent him to had several open hangar doors exposing old airplanes. Fascinated, he parked the Cub and spent the afternoon looking at airplanes, totally oblivious of the situation he created. Another instructor lesson learned. One must be specific in telling a student what can and can’t be done while flying cross-country flights.
Not too long ago, I was teaching a fellow to fly in his own tailwheel aircraft. We had worked together off and on for more than a year accumulating about 30 hours of flight time. He was finally acceptably handling the airplane. On an overcast calm Saturday morning, after completing about six near-perfect takeoffs and landings, I asked him to pull over and let me out. He was instantly nervous, but I knew he was capable of performing the takeoffs and landings.
The student taxied back to the north end of our 200-foot-wide turf runway, aligned the airplane for the takeoff, and then sat there for several minutes. I thought he might be experiencing some sort of mechanical problem and began walking toward him. About that time the power was applied, the tail lifted, and the airplane made a 90-degree turn to the left, exited the runway, and entered the bordering beanfield. Watching this, I kept thinking he will nose over in an instant, but he kept the stick back, made a 180-degree turn, and reentered the runway. He then reduced power and taxied toward the north end as if he planned to try it again. By this time, I got to the aircraft, entered it without saying anything, and said, “Let’s try that again.” We completed another two or three landings and parked the airplane for the day. The student kept trying to analyze what he had done while I kept thinking what I might have done to prevent this situation. I felt I had a solid read on his ability and knew he could fly the airplane. However, in a moment of anxiety, he froze up and nearly bent his nice flying machine. The next day we flew again, this time completing that first solo flight without incident. He went on to earn his pilot certificate.
The whole incident proved to me that even when you think you’ve done everything, a student may do something that you never anticipated. This is all part of instructing. The human element is involved when teaching a student to fly, and a human is capable of doing the unexpected.
After five decades of flight training, I’ve learned a lot. Students are teaching me things every day. At day’s end, I still love what I do.
Stay focused and fly safe.
Steve Krog, EAA 173799, has been flying for more than five decades and giving tailwheel instruction for nearly as long. In 2006 he launched Cub Air Flight, a flight training school using tailwheel aircraft for all primary training.