Scenarios for Training

"What would you do if the gym caught fire and the doors were locked?" (We had just learned about the Triangle Shirtwaist factory fire in history class.)

My reply: "Stack up the tumbling mats into a ramp and go out the high windows." I never had to do that, but to this day I always sweep my surroundings looking for multiple and alternative methods of egress. The game taught us to think quickly and take note of our surroundings and resources. It sharpened our problem-solving skills—just as scenario-based training does for pilots.

The airlines and military have been using scenario-based training for decades with good results. According to my airport children who are now at the airlines, everything they do in the simulator is scripted, in that it presents a scenario they must address. Engine failure on takeoff. Electrical failure in cruise flight, etc.

In general aviation, instructors will use scenarios as a means to evaluate your knowledge and decision-making skills. I use them extensively before I sign someone off for solo.

"You have just finished an hour of solo airwork and you've returned to the airport for landing. As you turn final, the aircraft ahead of you does a gear-up landing and the runway is now blocked. What do you do?"

The responses I've heard to this scenario range from a learner who wanted to know how much fuel he had on board then promptly named two other airports he could divert to, to the learner who said he'd declare an emergency and land on the taxiway. "Why would you do that?" I asked. This led to a discussion about the options the pilot in the pattern would have and what would make the most sense given the situation. Hint: Declaring an emergency and landing on the taxiway were not it.

Not everyone can process a scenario. They are just not wired that way. Sometimes they just don't have the imagination to think outside the box or lack the ability to process information quickly. "I don't know, let me think about it" isn't going to work if the situation is an emergency—or getting there.

Some simply refuse to accept the situation—such as getting lost.

"That's not going to happen to me," the learner told me during a stage check, when I asked him what he would do if he became lost.

The rule at the school was once they had learned how to navigate by pilotage and ded reckoning then they could use Foreflight and aircraft equipped with GPS. We didn't allow them to solo until they could navigate by pilotage and ded reckoning. Some CFIs went so far as to cover up the magnetic compass and heading indicator in the aircraft to make sure the learner could navigate using pilotage—pointing out landmarks that helped you find your way from the airport to the practice area and back was a big deal.

This particular learner had been flying with another CFI, who said despite his best efforts, the learner was still reluctant to use pilotage or dead reckoning. Especially pilotage. The learner had come from a school where glass cockpits and the magenta line were the rule. He had to learn to use the round-dial instruments, and once the CFI caught him trying to use the GPS on his smartphone to navigate. The learner was told to put it away and look out the window. He did so grudgingly.

We spent a few minutes in the practice area with me pointing out the landmarks on the sectional—Mount Rainier, Tiger Mountain, Mount Saint Helens, a couple of lakes (by name) and the freeway. I pointed out these items were on the sectional and labeled. We talked about the floor of the Bravo airspace over us at 3,000 feet, and how being down low (we were at 2,100 msl or roughly 1,600 agl) could make it challenging to see landmarks.

The learner repeated I could not get him lost.

I named an airport that was a challenge to find without a GPS unless you use pilotage and ded reckoning and the sectional—and you were high enough—at least 2,500 feet msl to see certain landmarks.

"Please, take us there," I said, jotting down the time on my notepad. Between you, me, and the hangar wall, the target airport was approximately 5 miles off the nose on the left side of the aircraft. Had we been about 400 feet higher, he would have been able to see it. "We're going to say for this scenario we have less than an hour of fuel left."

He threw me a look then set his jaw and started flying on a heading of north and south. He was looking outside of the aircraft, but he did not review the sectional. Then he turned south, repeating the process. Still couldn't find the airport. I let this continue for 20 minutes or so, then asked if I could provide guidance before refueling was an issue.

We reviewed the five Cs a pilot does when lost: climb, circle, conserve, confess, and comply.

I suggested he climb to 2,700 feet and put the nose on Mount Rainier for a start to get his bearings, then circle. For the unfamiliar, Mount Rainier dominates the landscape in the area. He complied, and slowed down the airplane while he studied the sectional and looked around to get his bearings. He (correctly) said we need to head north again. We headed north, but he said he still couldn't see it.

"Please give us a 360-degree turn to the left, standard rate, maintain 2,700," I suggested.

He repeated the instructions back to me as he executed the maneuver. While we were in the turn, I told him to look down—we were directly over the airport. He was surprised—he'd been over it at least three times but hadn't seen it. The airport was surrounded by trees, and we talked about how it hid the approaches unless you were high enough and right on top of it. There was a lake to the west of it that pointed to the 45 of the pattern when landing Runway 33 and a small lake on the southeast corner of the pattern when using Runway 15.

"I don't know why I didn't see it?" he muttered.

"Perhaps they had the cloaking device activated?" I suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't think so, ma'am," he disagreed. "The Federation outlawed them in the Treaty of Algeron."

I gave him points for the Star Trek reference and learning took place.