Previous Bravo Blog...

A lot can happen in two years. But if you're like me, a weekend VFR pilot, then a lot doesn't happen. Like stalls. And steep turns. And go-arounds. So when that three-letter acronym known as the BFR came calling recently, it was quite an eye-opener.

I walked into my flight school for my Biannual Flight Review full of hope. Hope that the instructor would find a needle-sharp pilot who really only needed a signature in the logbook, not some real air work.

The required one hour of ground went just fine. I actually surprised myself, knowing more about the sectional chart than I had really thought about since I got my ticket four years ago. Amazing how the hours of studying can really burn-in the meaning of those magenta lines and dashed Delta airspace.

Full of confidence, I walked out to the aircraft and did the preflight. That confidence carried through on departure to the practice area, and I was sure my instructor was impressed. Then came the words: "okay, let's do a few steep turns."

I'll admit it. When I'm cruising around on the weekends, all I really want to do is relax. Sure, I practice my landings (often with a crosswind), my radio skills (I fly in Class Bravo all the time), and some short and soft field takeoffs (they're fun). But why steep turns?

I banked to the right in a tight 45 degree turn, and pulled back slightly on the yoke. Ok, it's all coming back to me. And as I rounded out my turn, it was within PTS standards. Nice!

Now to the left. Suddenly, I was losing altitude, adding speed, softening my bank, losing speed, sharpening my turn, and by the time I made it back around I was 250 above where I started. What is it about turning left?

"Ok, remember to concentrate on your airspeed and that bank angle. Divide your attention." Suddenly my confidence was fading. Before I had time to think about where it was going, the engine suddenly quieted. A simulated failure.

I hit my glide speed, aimed for an airport nearby, and went through the flow and checklist, realizing later that I missed several items in my rush - like that little thing called "declaring an emergency." Then I was too high, so I dropped in all of my flaps and pointed straight down at the threshold.

"Ok, you've made the runway. Now go around!" Oh, I know how to do one of those. I reached for the throttle to push it in, but for some reason, my hand went for the flap handle, and just as I was about to retract all 30 degrees of drag, my instructor barked, "no, no, no. Throttle first."

Now that was dumb. And potentially dangerous at 300 feet. I jammed in the throttle, got a positive rate, then slowly retracted the flaps. My confidence was now fully retracted, as well. Is it possible to fail a BFR?

Five acceptable landings later, we taxied to the ramp. "Ok, we didn't break anything. Looks like you're good to go for another couple of years." Not exactly a ringing endorsement.

But perhaps by design, I was better for it. Not only did the BFR serve its purpose in testing my technique, it also identified areas where I need more work. It found the rust where I couldn't see it. Now it's up to me to keep it from coming back.

Article by Chris Archer; Send him an email