Flight School Ethics: IFR Training in IMC

I've never felt it was appropriate that a pilot could obtain an instrument rating without flying in the clouds. From a safety standpoint—no matter what type of flying the pilot intends to undertake—it seems beyond ludicrous. I received instrument dual in IMC at a small airport in rural Iowa; one would think that it would be a basic part of the syllabus of every flight school or independent instructor. Yet, it doesn't seem to be the case—I can't count the number of graduates of ostensibly top-drawer flight programs I've met who have never flown an airplane in the clouds.

I recognize that there are flight schools and instructors who will not give dual in IMC and I've spoken with a number about the issue. I also recognize that there are flight schools that are intentionally located in states with a great deal of good VFR weather so that students can get ratings as fast as possible.

The common denominator in my conversations with flight schools and CFIs who do not give dual in IMC is a combination of not wanting to run the risk of having a student lose control of the airplane in clouds and having a very compact syllabus that gets pilots through the instrument rating as quickly as possible. In some cases schools have told me that they face overwhelming pressure from customers to put the checks in the boxes and get the rating as fast as possible without concern for actually learning anything. I was told that taking time to do instrument work in IMC would interfere with the process. One instructor pointed out that the FAA would not give check rides in actual instrument weather and reiterated that there was no requirement in the FARs to get any time in the clag, so why should he give dual in IMC?

I've heard both sides of the debate and recognize both the time and money pressure that flight schools face. I also realize that it is absolutely impossible for an instructor to prepare a student for everything that might happen to him or her outside the nest (and I know that instructors agonize over that issue). However, the FARs are, by law, only minimum standards. I'm uncomfortable with the idea of flight schools and instructors only teaching to minimum standards of the regulations, and no more. That discomfort has been made worse by the most recent dumbing down of FAA standards with a definition of "slow flight" that can be faster than the normal approach speed of many training aircraft. I think that some degree of seasoning should be provided to pilots who are obtaining ratings—so that they are not loosed on the aviation world capable of the monkey motion of steering the airplane, able to talk with ATC and quote regulations verbatim, but without experience in making the go/no-go weather decisions outside of hypothetical scenarios discussed in the comfort of a classroom. In my opinion, because the FAA has disregarded its obligation to establish appropriate training requirements in IMC—to the detriment of flight safety—flight schools and instructors have an ethical obligation to go beyond the FAA's minimum standards for an instrument rating and take their instrument students into actual IMC on a regular basis and to show a pilot what is involved in flying safely in the real world.

An instrument student doesn't benefit much from flying in clouds during the first five hours or so of dual. That is the time the student is learning about attitude instrument flying, developing an effective instrument scan, the subtleties needed for minor corrections, how to use trim to make the airplane go where desired, how to add the clock into the scan and how to fly partial panel. That time is best spent in good weather—or, better yet, in a sim—so the student can concentrate on those basic skills without worrying about ATC or falling off the tightrope.

Once past that early training, it's my opinion that actual time in clouds is nothing but beneficial to the instrument student. Remember the sense of awe you felt the first time you flew very close to clouds, on seeing your first glory (the circular rainbow around an airplane's shadow on a cloud)? If nothing else, the delightful experiences flying in and near clouds make working on the rating that much more exciting.

Think of the many small surprises you had on first flying in clouds—discovering there was almost inevitably a bump on entering or exiting the side of a cloud, but not on doing so through the top or bottom; or how fast you learned about how rough a ride to expect inside a cloud from its external appearance. Remember how surprised you were to discover it was easier to fly the airplane in a cloud than under the hood because you could look around the cockpit? Why not introduce that knowledge to an instrument student early?

Because of my profession, I've been involved in looking closely at far too many accidents over the years. Many occurred in instrument conditions to pilots with instrument ratings but little actual time flying in clouds. We humans evolved on the surface of this planet and have only been creatures of the sky since we started flying balloons in 1783—evolutionally a flicker of an eyelash of time. A tremendous amount of what we experience in flight is without parallel to our experiences on the ground. Our inbred, ground-based instincts and reactions get triggered by the sensations of flight, and unfortunately, they are often dead wrong when it comes to what is appropriate when moving about the sky. As a result, we have to learn nearly everything formally when we step into the third dimension. So, when first flying VFR, we go with flight instructors. I feel that when we first fly inside a cloud it's also a wise idea to do so with flight instructors who can help us through this massive new set of experiences.

In my humble opinion, it's not a bad idea for an instructor to be there the first time a pilot actually sees how the color of the cloud changes as one nears the top and that on an overcast day it's wise to have sunglasses handy for that moment. Besides, having someone to share the exuberance you feel the first time you break out of the top of a cloud deck makes the moment even more magical. It's also a good idea for future reference for an instructor to be there to point out how much further they had to climb beyond that point when the student felt they were "almost on top."

At the other end of the flight, there is an emotional component to the descent through the clouds as one discovers the ever-increasing, almost sinister, blackness as the bases are neared and the pilot feels the pressure build to keep the needles centered, knowing the cold, hard ground is close. Add to that the sometimes overpowering need to urinate as the approach nears minimums, it's not a bad idea that a pilot do it for the first time with someone who has been there before, even if only for moral support.

Telling instrument students that the worst ice is usually near the cloud tops is no substitute for letting them discover it is true. I am of the opinion that much good comes from having an instructor along the first time the pilot watches the climb rate go to nothing over a period of a few minutes, just when that pilot firmly believes that climbing just a few hundred feet more will put them on top. At that moment some gentle comments by an experienced instructor may make a long-lasting impression on that pilot, such as pointing out that estimating where the tops are without a pilot report may not be a good idea. In the event the pilot is still tempted to linger overlong in the icebox portion of a cloud due to inexperience, optimism about climb performance and a longing for sunlight, the instructor can take action before the pilot learns that a block of ice has poor aerodynamic qualities.

I've always heard the instrument rating described as the thinking rating. Listening to others, far more competent than I, I've come to believe that the process of developing the appropriate level of judgment to make good weather-related go/no-go decisions comes from having some degree of experience with weather.

The first time pilots I've trained are not sure if they are going to see the runway at the end of an approach, I'd like to be present, sitting quietly, just to be a safety net. When they spot the runway, make a play for it, drop the rest of the flaps, pull the power back and then lose sight of the runway, I would like to be in the other seat, watching. I know that they are juggling the knowledge from books and our discussions that they must go missed—but I also know that they feel in their guts that they can blow through this "little" cloud and get to the runway. That could be their last mistake.

I want an experienced CFII in the right seat as safety net, because I've looked at too many shredded airplanes and know that the particular decision those pilots are making right then means looking death in the face, and I want them alive. I don't think books and lessons and lectures and hangar flying fully prepare a pilot for the overwhelming desire to land that comes about when a runway is glimpsed, even if only momentarily. Such an urge, if not resisted, can lead to either foolishly continuing a descent while in a "little" cloud or, perhaps even worse, trying to circle over a runway and land on it when the vertical visibility is 500 feet or so, and the horizontal visibility is about the same. Then, any turn they make will cause the runway, and all other visual references, to disappear. I'm of the opinion that seeing such situations in circumstances where an instructor can prevent a bad decision from being fatal are more likely to lead to good decision-making by pilots once they have instrument ratings and are on their own. Bad weather makes a powerful impression on a pilot. Handling it correctly once makes it more likely that it will be dealt with correctly in the future.

I want to fly in blowing snow with my students so that they can see how incredibly fast visibility can change and how a circle-to-land approach in it, or in any conditions at night, can provide food for the coffin worms.

An instructor friend told me that she firmly believed it was wise to fly with instrument students, in weather, at night, so that they can get a visceral understanding of the fact that it is often impossible to tell where the clouds are—something that is serious if there is ice about. She admitted that the first time she was flying along on a dark night and only realized she was in cloud when she heard a hissing noise and saw the windshield suddenly become opaque with rime ice, nearly necessitated cleaning the upholstery of the pilot's seat.

I've flown with instrument students when the weather was low enough to necessitate a real missed approach. New instrument pilots are used to landing out of an approach, they are primed for it, expecting it—hey, it's the normal end to an approach. Well . . . not always, and that can be stunningly difficult for a pilot to accept. The first real one usually causes distinct psychological reactions that, from my observations and reading accident reports, can't be duplicated in a simulator or under the hood. It takes an aircraft, clouds, uncertainty and cold sweat.

There is that awful period of time as each pilot realizes that she or he really isn't going to succeed with the approach—and pilots are success driven. What is known as "continuation bias" kicks in—and it's killed a lot of people because pilots are spring-loaded to continue the approach and make a landing come low clouds or fog. There is an incredible reluctance to pitching up and initiating the missed approach. The process goes in stages and I've taken to comparing it to those described by Elisabeth Kubler Ross in her magnificent study, On Death and Dying. The pilot first denies that a missed approach is needed—that runway is going to appear even though we are at DA, or time has run out while at the MDA. Then, at varying rates, pilots go through the bargaining, promises, and so forth that Ross so artfully described, before acceptance sets in and the missed approach is even tentatively begun. The fact that the mental journey to acceptance and action sometimes takes the pilot and the airplane well over a mile past the missed approach point is a definite cause for concern.

I think it's a good idea, if possible, to let instrument students see this whole process of denial through acceptance and starting the missed approach, for the first time with an instructor. I've met a number of instrument-rated pilots who have told me they have never had an actual missed approach. I worry a little for them, for I have been fortunate enough to learn about the dangerous mind-set that develops when making instrument approaches in actual conditions—that each will result in a landing and the potentially deadly task continuation bias that goes with it.

If possible, I like to have a session with my instrument students shooting approaches when the weather is below the non-precision MDA, and a precision approach is available. It provides a real world missed approach opportunity and that wonderful feeling of shooting a precision approach to near minimums and getting in when the weather stinks. I think such sessions also help made the abstract notion of an alternate airport take on new meaning, for the ceiling or visibility would only have to drop a bit to make a diversion necessary, especially because they were usually in an instrument trainer that didn't have particularly long legs.

Near the end of an approach, the transition to visual references via pulling off a hood is no big deal. That's not the case in weather, especially when visibility is rotten, there's no horizon and the cloud bases are ragged. Splitting one's attention between the panel to keep the airplane upright and looking outside for the runway is a new, and challenging experience. It's caused more than a few pilots to hit the ground short of the runway. The FAA doesn't require a demonstration of the ability to handle this transition in weather but, it seems to me, a good instructor will do the best he or she can to teach it to an instrument student.

While I am a big supporter of giving instrument students as much experience in actual weather as possible, I absolutely don't advocate taking a student into a thunderstorm. That's about the most foolhardy exercise in the aeronautical version of practice bleeding I can imagine. A session in moderate turbulence (as defined in the A.I.M.) combined with a comment that it is about a fifth of the challenge of flying in a thunderstorm, along with some further discussion, should be adequate to keep all but the most idiotic out of those monsters.

I'm convinced that flight schools and instructors can do a great deal for their instrument students by introducing them to flying in the clouds. While the FAA doesn't require such activity, I believe that an instructor should offer it to his or her students and an instrument student should demand it of an instructor.

Rick Durden is a CFII, holds an ATP with type ratings in the Douglas DC-3 and Cessna Citation, is an aviation attorney and the author of The Thinking Pilot's Flight Manual, or How To Survive Flying Little Airplanes and Have a Ball Doing It, Vols. 1 and 2.