Confronting the Fear of Flying

One supposes they are looking for some juicy description of a desperate situation fraught with daunting danger, culminating in a near-escape from certain death. My usual come-back is, “Well, I don’t recall ever being truly afraid, but there were some times when I wished I were somewhere else than where I was.”

Whether we admit it publicly or not, we may occasionally encounter fears while flying, as well as harbor doubts about our motivation for flying an airplane. I’ve seen people solo or even earn their certificate, only to walk away after proving their point, content to have finished the goal they had set. Seems a shame, and a waste, but for some people, it was enough to have done it.

For others, the realization that flying’s no longer for them comes after a particularly challenging bout with bad weather, or with some growing responsibilities in their life, or an acceptance of the finality of aging. It’s not so much fear as a developing uncertainty of one’s ability to manage outcomes. 

“The sky is not inherently dangerous,” goes the old saying, “but even more so than the sea, it is terribly unforgiving of the slightest mistake.” That we are trespassers in a hostile world bears heavily on our minds, at times.

For those in training who say, “I’m not sure I’m up to this,” as they struggle against the avalanche of new tasks and materials, I offer the observation that everybody feels that way sometimes. One advances through plateaus, not on a steady incline. The cure, I’ll assure them, is to take a look at the dumbest, least competent private pilot they know and tell themselves, “If that person did it, I can do it.”

It’s far better to underestimate one’s ability than to overestimate it, however.

I worry a lot about people who genuinely have no fear.

Confidence is a necessary, but carefully regulated ingredient of successful flying. Too much of it blinds us to the dangers we face. Instead, we must stay ever watchful of changes in our aircraft, the environment, and our abilities, staying confident that we can manage them but never becoming complacent.

At the same time, fear of failure should never be a motivation to keep going, regardless of the hazards. In aviation, opting out is simply risk management. “Flying through thunderstorms,” said the poster in our old Army Aviation flight operations office, “is never required in peacetime.” Going around from a bad landing attempt, executing a missed instrument approach, stopping short to refuel, diverting away from storms—these actions are not taken from fear, but wisdom.

I appreciate the pilot who honestly confesses to being afraid of some aspect of flying. Unveiled, we can talk about it and rationalize it back into its cage. Fear, I always say, is healthy. It keeps us from doing stupid things and heightens our awareness when dealing with a situation. Panic, on the other hand, is to be avoided at all costs, as it leads to inaction and poor thinking skills. To avoid panic, focus immediately on the job and keep your mind searching for unexplored options.

Almost invariably, fear retained after encountering difficult flying stems from a lack of understanding and uncertainty over how best to deal with such daunting tasks. If we seek wiser counsel, see the solution demonstrated, and undertake directed practice in handling those tasks in simulation, our fears will go away.

I can guarantee fear when you stare into the black roiling mass of a mature thunderstorm cell, hoping you’ll be able to fly somewhere else—anywhere else—but not into that.

The plan of action is to turn to a heading that takes you away from the worst-looking clouds, using resources like your eyeballs, ATC guidance, and onboard radar and lightning discharge displays, meanwhile configuring the airplane for rough air, stowing all loose objects and snugging restraints tight. Action has a calming effect.

What can be done about paralyzing panic? Focus narrowly until the worst of the feeling subsides, then start working outward from the central core of things to be done.

If the engine stops running, concentrate first on flying the airplane. You’ll want to surrender altitude as slowly as possible, so trim to best glide speed and avoid any chance of a stall. Then, look outside to see what choices of landing sites are within reach, including the nearest airport, and consider the wind’s direction. While turning in the most favorable direction, run a quick check of fuel tank selection, boost pump, mixture, carburetor heat, and ignition in hopes of restoring power.

But, until you focus on flying the airplane to suppress initial panic, none of these ancillary actions will be possible.

Fighting the bitter taste of adrenaline welling up inside you isn’t easy. One memorable day when I narrowly missed being rammed by a careless pilot during a formation flying mission, it took quite a while for my heart rate to recover. From the experience, I learned to brief such operations better—not in more detail, because that may have made that pilot forget the basics of togetherness flying, but with increased emphasis on making changes slowly in formation.

In aviation, we’re used to being much more in control than we might be under terrestrial conditions.

With the freedom to move about in three dimensions, unimpeded by physical restraints, given a reasonable amount of altitude, we can remove ourselves from a dangerous situation almost at will. By comparison, an impaired driver on the highway can do us in without warning, and a crazed Jet Ski rider can sink our idling boat while at the lake. A downhill ski run can turn ugly if we lose the trail, an undertow can sweep us far out into the surf, a dirt bike’s traction can falter just short of the crest, and a crumbling bit of rock can threaten our rock-climbing outing.

Who says flying is fearsome?

Nevertheless, when something comes up that we didn’t expect in aviation, we have no choice but to deal with it. And that can be the origin of some of our fears.

There can always be situations we can’t control, like a midair collision from out of nowhere or an engine part with an expired replace-before date. Even so, we still have some control. We can remain aware of the likelihood of traffic near airports, avoid long head-down intervals, and involve ourselves in maintenance responsibilities rather than abandon them entirely to the shop.

Aviation is still one of the best places to be in total command of our fate. It’s largely self-policed, and our actions are not subject to official scrutiny until we’re back on the ground.

We fly because we like being in charge, and accept the consequences of our actions. Being sometimes afraid simply gives us pause to reflect on our competence, leading to a resolve to never stop learning and to keep advancing our skill level, all to avoid extraordinary situations that require extraordinary skills. 

If fear is a motivator to take corrective action, it’s a healthy thing.

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared on Plane & Pilot.