Reading the accident reports where pilots panic and make fatal mistakes is helpful. But—the most helpful thing to do—for me, anyway—to ward off panic and build flying confidence is train, train, train. Drill, baby, drill. Flashcards and chair-flying and flying are my friends.
I entered the clouds at about 9,000 feet and immediately ice begin to build up on the wings. I didn’t see the wing ice at first because I was busy looking for ice on the the windscreen. But there was none. Finally when I looked left, then right I saw ice on my wings from wing tip to wing root. Yikes! All white, the edges, and getting whiter.
I tried to explain that if you corner a car too hard, it may skid. “Corner” an airplane too hard, it may stall, spin, and crash, in that order. One day, I had him do a “high speed” (40 knots) practice abort on takeoff, and he stomped on the brakes—but mashed the left one harder than the right. We got pretty darn far left of centerline—I think I could read the words on the vending inside the FBO building—and came to a stop.
Speaking of food, KCBE, Greater Cumberland Regional Airport, in Maryland, has the Hummingbird Cafe. While technically not an FBO, they get the “Best Call-Out To Mom” award. You park right out front, and ideally chock your aircraft to keep it from rolling away and then you have to chase it and chock it anyway. They have a great BLT at the Hummingbird Cafe, approximately 11 inches thick. (The BLT, I mean.)
Just after we landed at Cedar Rapids, Iowa, on Runway 9. “Citation 246GF, turn left on Runway 13, right on Alpha, left on Echo, right on Echo Two to parking with me.” We were the only aircraft moving at the airport. The the call sounded like: “Citation246GFturnleftonRunway31rightonAlphaleftonEchorightonEchoTwotoparkwithme.”
This guy would aggressively slam the aircraft into a 45-degree bank in the traffic pattern, turning from downwind to base, for example, with a maniacal grin on his face. I suspect he was a successful businessman, used to kind of getting his own way. I tried to convince him that flying like that often led to sudden death, but he smirked.
I tell the Tower my gear lights don’t indicate three green down in locked. The young man’s voice asked me “Would you like a flyby?” He wanted to know if I wanted to “fly by” the tower for him to look. Then he asked me “How many souls on board?”
I must have landed safely, because off I went, solo! Holy moley, the airplane took off and climbed a lot quicker with only one person on board, all that weight gone. Also, there was somewhat less yelling in the cockpit. I went around the pattern and did touch and goes and then went out north of town to the “practice area.”
The Chart Supplement can spell out the huge words “waterfowl” or “jack rabbits,” but can’t spell out the word “airport,” but instead uses “arpt?” Or “invof” versus “in the vicinity of?” Why not abbreviate bears, to “brs?” Or “buffalos” to “bfflo?” Reason?—because all the bfflo were sht by bfflo-hntrs in like 1885.