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Striving for Perfection

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  • By Anonymous
KIRTLAND AIR FORCE BASE, N.M. --  Note:  Long before the Air Force Safety Center stood up at Kirtland Air Force Base, N.M., on Jan. 1, 1996, Airmen were sharing their lessons learned in a variety of safety publications such as Aerospace Safety, Aerospace Maintenance Safety, Air Force Driver, among others.  During a year-long commemoration of the safety center's 20th anniversary, the Public Affairs Office will highlight previously-published articles and reprise historic Rex Riley cartoons to emphasize that long-standing safety practices and lessons learned remain relevant to the mishap prevention program of today's Air Force.

There I was, passing through 2,000 feet. Directly off my left wing was another T-6 on a collision course with my airplane. Thank goodness for the naval aircraft collision warning system, a poor man's traffic collision avoidance system, that gave me a timely cockpit warning of an impending conflict. I immediately initiated a climb to deconflict our flight path. After a rush of adrenaline, I leveled the aircraft at 5,000 feet and got established on the outbound radial for our departure routing. I transferred the aircraft controls back to the student pilot in the front seat. How had I almost collided with another trainer on initial turnout from the pattern?

As with most mishaps, or potential mishaps, looking back there were a couple of crucial mistakes that had been made earlier on to set this event in motion. My student was in the early pre-solo contact phase and, as often happens, had misunderstood the departure procedure. We should have turned out of the traffic pattern and, once clear of the overhead traffic, climbed out at 180 knots. Instead, we accelerated to 220 knots at 500 feet above ground level. I discussed the proper procedures with my student, who believed he had to wait until he had the required distance measuring equipment reading from the field to climb and turn to parallel outside downwind. By the time I corrected the student, we were at the DME for the turn. In standard student fashion, he raised the nose, but failed to climb aggressively enough to maintain 180 knots, tech order climb speed, putting us square in the visible flight rules entry/breakout area and altitude. In the high-density training environment, I delayed direct instructor pilot intervention in an attempt to allow the student to correct. The ensuing conversation further delayed the proper input.

As a crew member and instructor, when you notice a deviation, especially during a critical phase of flight, you have to make an input to correct the deviation. I delayed too long. Thankfully, the NACWS gave me the necessary time to spot the other aircraft and make a correction. Technology helped me in the cockpit that time, but you cannot always rely on it, nor can you trust the student to be using a proper scan. Keep your head on a swivel and teach your students to do the same.

The other links in the safety chain that day involved the environment and a crucial interruption in my normal habit patterns. It was your typical 95-degree-plus summer afternoon in Mississippi as we stepped to the aircraft. Once the forms and cockpit were inspected and set up, I followed my student around the aircraft as he performed his preflight inspection. With the sun beating down, I quickly had drops of sweat rolling down the lenses of my flight glasses. Unable to see, I cleaned off my glasses and stowed them in my G-suit pocket. Normally, I would have left my glasses in my pubs bag with my in-flight guide. Finishing the preflight, we both hopped in the aircraft and proceeded to go through the strap-in and before-start checklist. Helmet on and canopy closed, the T-6 purred to life, as did the air conditioner, and we taxied out to the active runway.

With all of our checks out of the way, we were ready to tackle another sortie of aux field patterns and military operating area stalls and falls. As we accelerated down the runway, I watched a formation of T-38s take off from the center runway. I thought, "Those Talons look fuzzy." It dawned on me that my glasses were still in my G-suit pocket. Great. Now that we were airborne, there was nothing I could do until we got to a safe altitude to remove the ejection seat garter around my left leg and fish my spectacles out of my pocket. I decided to wait until we were established on the departure radial and level before I donned my glasses.

There are plenty stories throughout the history of aviation about how aviators are superstitious, almost obsessive-compulsive individuals when it comes to details involved in operating their aircraft. This trait manifests itself in our use of checklists, always performing our preflight the same way day after day or establishing a cockpit flow. When we get distracted from our normal routine, it can often result in missing a checklist item and getting out of sequence in our behavior patterns. These missed steps at times are mundane omissions that don't result in a mishap. On another sortie, it may be the difference between recovering the aircraft safely and being another mishap narrative on what not to do. It's our charter as professional aviators to strive for perfection. This is certainly a lofty goal. Our reliance on well-enforced habit patterns helps us. We must guard ourselves against anything that interrupts our normal flow. Preserving the sanctity of the briefing bubble from nonflight-related interruption is one example of how we protect ourselves from distraction. As crew members, we always need to be ready to speak up or intervene immediately when we or our fellow crew members are not performing up to standards. It may be too late to correct the error once the other aircraft blooms in our windscreen. (Reprinted from Wingman Magazine, Summer 2010)