A young man arrived at my school one day to fly instrument approaches. He wanted to hire an instructor as safety pilot so that he could officially “stay current” before that magic six months recency of experience had expired. I placed “stay current” in quotes to highlight what I have learned seems to have become that unnerving, but prevailing, cavalier attitude among so many pilots: “I fly enough to stay current.” In the view of some learned people, with respect to currency, there is legal, and then there is safe.

Now, all the regulations required that day was simply another pilot sitting beside this young man, legal to fly the type airplane being used. He could thus have accomplished his currency more cheaply. It should have been a red flag to me that, instead, he wanted to hire an instructor for the flight.

We walked together across the ramp to the airplane where he admitted how anxious he was to get his six approaches safely in ink in his logbook before the deadline. He said he hadn’t flown any approaches, any IFR at all, for that matter, in the last six months, but I suspect it had been closer to a year. In fact, as I understand it, he’d never flown IFR at all since earning his rating some years earlier. As seems so often the case in these situations, being rated, even licensed at all, for that matter, may have been simply a badge for this young man, an achievement he was now striving to keep legal, just not necessarily usable.

He was a quiet young man, reserved, even a little timid. His preflight was accomplished not in the ordered way I would do it, but under my supervision and encouragement, it got the job done. He started the engine just fine, then taxied to the run-up area. Run-up complete, we were cleared for takeoff. We pulled onto the runway, accelerated smoothly, then rotated.

No sooner had tires departed tarmac, then he looked right, reaching with his right hand for the radios. Well, in my experience, if the distracted pilot reaches right, he leans right, followed by banking right, which is exactly what we did. Suddenly, looking out my right window found us in a fairly steep right bank staring at the taxiway about twenty-five feet directly below.

“What are you doing?” I snapped, “Do you see where we are now? We’re in a steep bank, over the taxiway at about twenty-five feet altitude, headed toward the T-hangers. Don’t you ever do that again.”

I went on to say, “It’s important not to take your eyes off the takeoff. This is the most dangerous part of the flight. The radio frequencies should have been set on the ground, in the run-up area, when you had the time, when you were not doing anything else.”

It is distractions such as these that lead to, and are the reason we teach and practice, departure or power-on stalls. This young man’s attitude created the condition of an accident waiting to happen, and it is that lapse in his judgment that incurred my admonishment.

His behavior set me thinking about the larger picture, the broader concept of currency. It also made me wonder, once we earn our tickets, if we ever again take any voice of reason with us into the cockpit, anyone of importance or value, someone from our early training perhaps, one of sage wisdom. Consider how helpful it could be having a little flight instructor sitting on one shoulder, or perhaps one of our grizzled old flight examiners sitting on the other. Short of that, we will at least need our Guardian Angel hovering somewhere over us to help us answer the age-old question, “Is what I am about to do really a good idea?”

In his mind, this fellow held fast to the somewhat-loosely-defined FAA regulations requiring logging six instrument approaches within six months. He had as his coveted goal flying those approaches before the expiration date. However, the FAA cannot legislate common sense in its rulemaking. In cases like this, it relies upon us, the certificated pilots, to understand and be responsible for the many issues related to flying under IFR, especially in IMC.

To a pilot with the intention of living long enough to make it home that evening to enjoy supper with his loved ones, being current does not mean only officially logging six approaches within a specified timeframe. It also does not mean letting those first six months lapse into the second six months, then squeezing six simple, carefree, piece-of-cake approaches in on the last day just to avoid the inconvenience, embarrassment, and expense of another checkride.

It means logging more than six approaches. It means knowing and practicing so thoroughly the specifics of IFR flying that he harbors a confidence in his own abilities. Before he gets to that point, however, it means enjoying a peace of mind that comes from far exceeding currency, in displaying expertise in other aspects of flying the airplane as well. The pilot certificates are not just shiny badges to wear upon his lapel, to show off standing around the office water cooler. Safety is an attitude; currency, a lifestyle.

Embarrassed, this young man did not speak for a time. We finally made it to the Casanova VORTAC to fly the first of his six VOR approaches into Culpepper. His first procedure turn was so far outside the boundaries of what is acceptable that it did not even qualify as a procedure turn. It was more akin to a meandering sightseeing flight over the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Inbound, he passed the station, sure, just not over it, then immediately began a descent to the field with the CDI pegged far to one side. The only way we knew we had finally made it even near Culpepper airport is that we saw the field far away out the side window, the CDI still pegged.

His next approach and its procedure turn were worthy of no more accolade than the first. The third approach was a little better, still not one that could have saved his life or the life of the airplane in IMC. Under my constant tutelage, by the fourth and fifth approaches, he was performing a little better still, but only with wide swings of the CDI.

Not until his sixth approach could I safely and honestly declare his performance acceptable. That last approach actually was pretty good; not perfect, mind you, but it would have gotten him home. In the end, it took six approaches to grind such rust off his skills that only the last one was acceptable.

While this young man could legally have flown these approaches that day with any pilot, the reason he elected to fly with an instructor is because, on many levels, he was playing brinkmanship. In his case, he was fortunate to have landed an instructor who has earned a reputation for being fairly strict in the cockpit.

Still, that was enough for him. He headed for home, thankful it was all over, that he’d satisfied regulations, current for another six months. Whew! He has staved off the FAA inspectors, slid past regulations for another year. Six VOR approaches, only one of which was any good, and this young man was happy.

What about another three or four now, I wondered, just to make sure he’s got it? What if that last approach was one of those pesky anomalies? Can he do it for me again? While we are on the subject, next week, how about let’s fly a couple of ILS approaches, maybe toss a DME arc into the mix just for a thrill, or how about a back course for a real challenge?

Then, when he gets home, how about hitting the books once again? When that’s all done, maybe he should think about some armchair flying when he’s alone at home sitting on the edge of his bed. Running through procedures in his head, visualizing himself in the cockpit, performing procedures and checklists correctly is an excellent way to keep himself rust-free for the next time we fly together.

As to the other issue, it’s lucky for everyone that no other airplanes stood waiting below us on the taxiway earlier as we lackadaisically meandered away from the earth after takeoff, this man’s nose stuck in the radio display. Where would he be had I not been riding along with him that day?

Are not safety, organization, pre-flight planning, attention to detail, and common sense also part of this young man’s currency requirements? Is not successfully taking off, then finding his way to the fix of paramount importance to him, actually trumping the six approaches he seemed so intent on completing? What will currency matter if he cannot even get far enough to fly the approaches in the first place? Moreover, at what point did he decide that basic piloting technique takes a backseat to everything else?

Probably because flying is so expensive, but more so because of the constancy of human nature, we humans look for the loopholes in virtually everything we do. Regulations are no different. For instance, with respect to landing currency, three takeoffs and landings every ninety days renders us legal to carry passengers. During the daytime, they can be touch and go. Night currency, however, requires landings to a full-stop. So, if we fly our three night-time flights around the patch and land, we are now covered for daytime, too, right? Legally, yes.

Think about it. How similar are three takeoffs and landings at night to a given three during daylight hours? They’re not. The visual cues we use in darkness bear no resemblance whatsoever to those we use during the daylight. While some readers may think I’m splitting hairs here, use of this example does raise a valid point. Night-time landings require at least runway lights, if not approach lighting systems, even glideslope lighting in some cases. Who among us has not taken advantage of VASI or PAPI even on a clear, starlit night?

Usually, we don’t see the runway proper until our landing light illuminates the pavement as we cross the threshold. Sometimes, we even have difficulty locating the airport itself amid the clutter of city lights. Most of us do not fly airliners equipped with landing lights so powerful they illuminate most of the length of the runway, so our landing relies upon other cues. In fact, some pilots prefer to land without the landing light. Losing that convenience myself several times in airplanes I have flown, I have had no choice but to land by other references.

Daytime landings, however, look and are entirely different, from approach straight down through to the touchdown. Visual cues are the runway itself, terrain, the entire airport, in fact. We have plenty of time to study and set up the landing, to locate an alternative to the runway should we lose an engine.

So once again, three night landings don’t really qualify us, in the strictest sense, as current for daytime operations. It’s allowed, yes, but is it a good idea from a practical standpoint? In the end, to slide past those pesky regulations, many, if not most, pilots will govern their behavior not by what it will take to make them feel qualified to carry their spouses and children, but rather by how far their stretching of the rules beyond the boundaries of common sense will still satisfy the FAA.

Another young man was complex rated, but wanted checkout in my school’s Piper Arrow. He handled the airplane well enough otherwise, but was unable to complete the flight without my comments. Immediately after takeoff, he selected gear up, then reached for the lever between the seats that activates the gear override system Piper designed into the Arrow, a system I’ve always felt was a good idea only, as is the case with most things in life, as long as it’s handled properly.

Where this young man went wrong in my view is that not only did he override the system to assure gear retraction, he pinned or locked the gear override selector into the up position. As I recall, he told me this had become part of his routine, adopting this unusual practice out of convenience.

Pinning the lever of Piper’s automatic landing gear system into override mode allows the pilot to perform various low-speed maneuvers, including stalls. When the engine falls below 14 inches manifold pressure, the airplane thinks we want to land and normally will extend the gear automatically. I myself have used the override system to retract the landing gear after takeoff on hot, humid days within the confines of short runways that have significant obstacles.

The gear retraction is coupled to the pitot static system, and the system will not work unless enough airspeed is sensed, hence the need at those times for the override function. However, I never pin the gear for takeoff. I only operate the override lever manually, returning it to the neutral position once the gear are stowed.

I explained to him that what he was setting himself up for after pinning the gear override lever is his forgetting to unpin it during his cruise checklist, a checklist I noticed, incidentally, that he did not perform. Besides, the pinning or unpinning of the gear override lever is not listed in the written cruise checklist.

“What if,” I said to him, “we made it to 1000 feet AGL and the engine quit? In your scramble to achieve best glide speed, which in an Arrow is 105 mph, a fairly-steep pitch, mind you, which uses up our allotted 1000 feet fairly quickly, if you can find the time in your preparations for this emergency landing, you might presume that because the engine quit, the undercarriage will automatically have extended, which it usually does in that case because it’s held retracted by hydraulic pressure.

“However, try to remember during those harrowing thirty or forty seconds before we hit the ground that you pinned the gear override lever just after takeoff, thereby overriding this function. Let me help you on this point, under those circumstances you will not remember. In an Arrow, there is no visual mechanical cue for a gear down and locked condition, so you will fly her neatly onto her belly, convinced salvation from your shortsightedness will come from the engineers at Piper Aircraft whose genius, in the end, you elected to override.”

We flight instructors are in the unique position to witness more than our share not only of pilots’ creative reinterpretation of the spirit of the regulations, but also of their reinventing of procedures. For instance, our training dictates assuring either positive rate of climb or having run out of usable runway before the landing gear are retracted.

Nevertheless, there still are plenty of pilots out there who insist upon showing off their “improved” method for taking off by selecting gear up before starting the takeoff roll. While some pilots have gotten away with this, the gear retracting safely, climb established, it just as often ends in disaster because of poor pilot technique, Mother Nature suddenly changed the wind direction, the air was warmer than expected, or the airplane weighed in heavier than the pilot calculated.

The FAA cannot save us from ourselves. The agency tries to idiot-proof life, but it cannot be accomplished. The regulations in place rely upon whatever measurable individual intelligence and common sense the pilot may have to fill in some of the blank spaces. Therein reside those gray areas the regulations cannot address, wherein lurk those two questions that ask, one, if what we are about to do is really a good idea, and two, despite what is required to maintain currency, how much more might I want to accomplish personally to become safe.