IMC-Fear and Foolishness

The great book Fate is the Hunter by Ernest K. Gann well describes the grip of fear that most have observed in our fellow pilots and perhaps in ourselves. Fear is of course a primordial, natural, and quite healthy reaction to unknown and threatening situations. Flying perfectly describes such a situation—an obvious venture away from the fundamental bounds of Mother Earth and familiar venues and sensations. For most of us, the initial apprehension of flight is soon overcome by the sheer joys it brings.

Instrument flight adds a completely new layer of psychology to the situation. Not only have we now lost physical contact with the Earth, but also we are no longer even in visual contact with what has provided visual orientation to our brains since birth. Almost completely devoid of reliable sensory inputs, pilots must force themselves to react to—and implicitly trust with their life—the workings of a smattering of little gauges in the instrument panel. For many this is a bigger step than even the first solo flight.

It is a sad fact that a majority of instrument rated pilots will never actually get their feet (or rather their airplanes) wet in actual instrument conditions. The result is that general aviation is less safe than it could be—and less useful as an efficient tool of transportation. That and the waste of teaching resources isn't even half as discouraging as the fact IFR flight can be so much easier, relaxing, and all around more pleasurable than VFR flying under many conditions.

With respect to flying, fear takes several forms and may be called by other names—such as "heightened awareness."

Fear of clouds is a form of phobia known as nephophobia, but I don't believe this psychological quirk has much to do with the problem. There are two distinct areas of concern to the pilot; 1) trust in the equipment and 2) trust in your own abilities to accomplish a complex task.

As a child, I was fascinated by spinning tops and gyros of all sorts. It was (and is) somewhat magical to me the concept of "rigidity in space" that so forcefully resists any attempt at interference. Yet this phenomena (and the even more mysterious latecomers of circling laser beams and vibrating crystals) is of course what keeps the attitude indicators artificial horizon aligned with its unobserved earthly cousin.

And though there is wonderment and awe in this, like so much else the technical and scientific modern life offers, confident and proficient instrument pilots must acquire an intimate knowledge of what they are dealing with—and to become confident with it. It is much easier to develop a trust in a system when you know the ins-and-outs of its function and the various levels of redundancy.

Fear of the unknown represents the weather phenomena that we are challenging. A benign overcast holds little, but a fast moving cold front can present all kinds of surprises.

The fear of the actual tasks of IFR flight rests largely on the misconception, often perpetuated by those who should know better, that flying on the gauges is particularly difficult. Certainly, it takes a dedicated academic effort coupled with appropriate flight instruction to achieve the required skills and techniques. Then it becomes a matter of developing the self-confidence to enter the mist above.

First, the airplane itself doesn't know nor care if it's in the clouds or in the clear. Second, most any autopilot connected to the appropriate avionics box can easily and reliably accomplish just about all phases of a typical flight, rain or shine—including what is usually known as the hardest part—an approach to minimums. The fact is most IFR flights are routine, dead simple, and requiring no more than the mechanical tracking of courses, headings, and altitudes by either the smart live pilot or the dumb autopilot.

There are circumstances due to weather, terrain or tasks, such as DME arc to a non-precision approach (in an aircraft without a moving map display), that can be mentally challenging—but these are the distinct exceptions.

Even if you fly most every working day (as I do), I would venture to say that on average, nine of 10 flights either end in a visual approach or a simple instrument letdown to VMC conditions below. How is this difficult? I think the way we train instrument pilots may itself ingrain a subconscious negative mindset.

Some pilots decided to get the instrument rating as an "insurance card" against the future possibility of inadvertently flying into IMC—they would have an increased chance of survival than the VFR-only pilot. Perhaps this accounts for the large number of "unused ratings."

Typically, the instructor crams as much as possible into each flight hour. If every instrument flight you've ever done included several non-precision approaches, flying an often complex missed approach to holding, and then proceeding to an alternate for an ILS to minimums, this could create an aura of anxiety. Is it any wonder that many newly minted instrument pilots feel that getting their rating wet in actual conditions is beyond them?

So what to do? First, it would be nice to desensitize the pilot from the simple fear of flying in clouds. Unfortunately, many pilots earn their instrument rating without spending a single minute inside one. There are parts of the country where flyable IMC conditions may not prevail for weeks—if not months.

In an ideal world, we would start the training with simple, undemanding (read boring) flights with, as is often the case, only the cruise portion being in actual IMC. Of course, in the ideal world, there would always be a convenient cloud layer in which to cruise, with bases at 2000 feet AGL. You would file IFR and drone between two VORs with climbs, descents, and change of aircraft configuration. Then practice some holding, and when done, request a descent into visual conditions and land.

After a few hours of this mind-numbing experience, most pilots will be more comfortable with their ability (and their instrument's capability) to keep the proverbial shiny-side-up.

The next step would obviously be to find lower ceilings and begin the process of executing instrument approaches to lower and lower minimums—preferably with better weather within range. As time and opportunity permits, you start tackling more challenging weather and types of approaches. Step-by-step you are making yourself a full-fledged instrument pilot and addressing the fear quotient.

Due to the practical constraints of location, cost and time, flight training in this ideal world is rarely possible. Therefore, most pilots arrive at the end of the instrument check-ride with little or no time logged in IMC—and an unhealthy anxiety factor about flying in IMC.

Because it is doubtful that a prospective IFR pilot could conjure up weather that fits the instrument flight-training program, most proceed with the foggles (rain or shine) and the traditional training program. However, when ready for the checkride—or shortly thereafter—pilots should schedule some flight-time in one of the more IMC prone parts of the country, perhaps the Pacific Northwest for example. Arrange with a flight training operation there for instruction in conditions that will allow you to "see" the inside of a cloud and become comfortable with your newfound skills. There is no substitute for the real thing.

You don't have to be a neophyte to execute this scenario. If you earned your rating years ago, you might consider taking some update training in a more IMC prone environment to acquire the self-confidence you've been lacking.

One more note. Just because you trained to execute a back-course localizer approach with seven DME fix step-down fixes doesn't mean you have to do it. Let me tell you a little secret. I don't. My fly-by-wire auto-land capable airliner can do just about anything I ask of it. Still, my employer has decided that there are some things we should not do. That includes dive-and-drive localizer or NDB approaches, or circling approaches in low IMC. Some big-whig in a glass palace has decided that the risk of performing these far outweigh their usefulness.

And, for once I actually agree with management.

Bo Henriksson is a captain with a regional carrier and has more than 15,000 flight hours.

This article originally appeared in the July 2014 issue of IFR Refresher magazine.

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