My First Instrument Approach

I was nervous, excited and certain of failure.

It’s just not possible that I could takeoff, immediately put foggles on, fly around for an hour using only basic steam gauges and then end up lined up with the runway at two hundred feet above the ground. Somewhere along the way I was going to get thoroughly confused, mentally over-loaded and totally frustrated.

Eighteen months ago I received my King Instrument Rating Knowledge Test CD Course in the mail. I was determined to plow right through it so that I could begin my instrument flight training.

It was June of 2008 and I figured it would take two months to study and take the test. Surely, I’d be practicing instrument approaches by August?

One delay seemed to lead to another.

A crashed computer lost my place in the King Course right before I was to get the sign-off. This required me to start the whole program over. Are you kidding me? Apparently not, and I spend the next two months re-doing the CD course.

I pass the written IR exam by October 2008.

Finally, I’m going to start my instrument flight training! I’ll be doing instrument approaches like a pro in no time!

I had two lessons of basic instrument maneuvers when the vacuum pump on my Cessna Cardinal decided to take a dump. Are you kidding me?

This happens about a month before the plane was due for an engine over-haul. Four months and a billion dollars latter, I’m ready to start training again, right?

Nope – you see, dear Gary, there’s this thing called the “break-in period”. The fairy godmother of Lycoming engines requires special treatment of its newborn baby for the first 30 hours of flight. Ergo – no flight training. Let’s see, 30 hours divided by 5 hours per month equals – are you kidding me?

Finally, yesterday, 18 months after the journey began, I am going to do my first instrument approach.

“We’ll fly the FREES 6 departure, do some holds, then direct to Point Reyes where we’ll do the transition to the ILS 32 at Santa Rosa,” says my flight instructor.

“Ok,” I say. I’m thinking I’ll be lucky to remember to close the cowl flaps. Then the what? And then the what? Are you kidding me?

I know things are not going to go well when I’m cleared for takeoff, push my mic button, open my mouth – and absolutely nothing comes out. Bloody hell, I’m not even on the runway and I’m already experiencing mental vapor lock. Are you kidding me?

“34777 cleared for take-off,” says my flight instructor, bailing me out. That didn’t really just happen, did it? I’m not some rookie; I’ve been flying for twenty years for Pete’s sake!

Somehow I manage to get the Cardinal off the ground without scraping a wing. Like the true professional that I am, at 600 feet I call out, “Post take-off checklist, positive rate, gauges in the green, flaps up, cowl flaps closed.”

That ought to impress my CFII, I’m thinking.

“Do you always close the cowl flaps during the climb?” Mr. Knowitall asks.
“Uh, no. Cowl flaps open,” I call out lamely.

I managed to find the FREES 6 intersection and arrived at the, approximately correct, altitude of 3500 feet. The wind was gusting and we were bouncing around quite a bit. I wouldn’t be maintaining plus or minus 100 feet today. I tried to focus on just the instruments I needed for each maneuver, but it wasn’t easy. I kept wanting to look at ALL the instruments and the added scan time was causing the course and altitude to drift. Still I felt in reasonable, if not precise, control.

“Brain function? Check!”. So far, I thought, but we still had a long way to go.

We did three holds at FREES which I was not prepared for. I had practiced the departure procedure and the ILS 32 approach on MS Flight Simulator many times and felt I had a grasp of them. Holding patterns, not so much. With lots of prompting from my CFII, I managed to complete three somewhat respectable circuits of the holding pattern.

“Cardinal 34777, proceed direct Point Reyes, maintain 3500,” says the CFII.
“Direct Point Reyes, maintain three thousand five hundred, 34777,” I say in my best Chuck Yeager voice.

A few minutes later we reach PYE and make the turn to 010. It is now 16.4 nautical miles to LUSEE, the initial approach fix. Now I’m getting excited! After all these months I am finally going to fly an instrument approach!

“Deep breaths,” I tell myself.
“Cardinal 34777, say altitude,” pipes up Mr. Knowitall.
Crap! I’m 200 feet high.
“Descending to three thousand five hundred, 34777,” says I. At least I didn’t say “thirty-five hundred”. I’m wondering if the FAA check ride dude gives bonus points for correct phraseology?

It took about twelve hours to intersect the localizer at LUSEE. Finally, the needle starts to twitch. Or did it? Then it twitches again. Then – yep, it’s actually moving!

As the needle centers I – turn to 321 degrees and remember the five T’s. Time (nothing to time here), Twist (and promptly forgot to set NAV 2 for the missed approach), Throttle (what was that setting again?) and Talk (“Holy crap, I’m on a localizer!).

My instructor cancels flight following and calls the tower for me. I totally could have done this myself – ok, I couldn’t. Isn’t there something in the FARS about not having to talk on the radio when on an ILS in a red Cardinal?

The next few minutes were somewhat of a blur. The ILS needles were like one of those computer screen games where you try to click on something but no matter how quick you are, it constantly moves away. Everywhere I went, the needles went somewhere else.

“Jeezus, what’s that noise?“ I yell.
“That would be the outer marker,” says CFII.
“Oh, yeah, I knew that. Just testing you,” I say. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t buying it.
“Fly the needles,” says CFII
“500 for 322”, I say. Then I realize how close we are to the ground and I can’t see a thing. I hope I don’t crash on my first instrument approach.
“400 for 322”
“322”
“Take off the foggles,” says the CFII.

And right there is the runway!

Ok, IF you define “right there” as being twenty-five yards to the right with the runway threshold passing under the wingtip. It was the first time I have ever needed all five thousand feet of runway 32.

I landed so long the tower says, “34777 make a 180 on the runway back to the last turn-off.”

I park the plane after a 3½ hour flight. I then check Hobbs meter and it reads – 1.0.

Are you kidding me?

Gary