What a day! Cyan skies stretch to the horizon, the ground below you looks magnificent after a bit of rain, you are completely surrounded by CAVOK and the Lycoming is purring like a kitten. Could you ask for a better day to do a flight review? You’re feeling like you were born to be up here and right now you’re the monarch of the bright blue. Then, from the right seat comes the words, “let’s see you stall her”.
Grunge…your day just turned to grunge. You really don’t want to do it, but know you will be the victim of a cat-o-nine-tails tongue lashing from the one in the epaulettes if you don’t. Nervously and anxiously you set up and stall the aircraft, recovering smoothly and earning yourself approving nods. Easy, but you’d still rather have not had to do it.
Why not? What is it about practise stalling that puts the wind up most of us private pilots? Even if we make a complete dog’s breakfast of the recovery, the instructor is going to take the controls off us and set it right. Embarrassing, but not worth being scared of. And provided the airframe stays clean, most of the aircraft PPLs fly have stall characteristics more docile than a floating feather. Yet still we approach a practise stall like we’re being asked to go 12 rounds with Freddie Krueger.
Look at it this way: why would you shun practising to save your life? Complacency no doubt; some pilots seem to have “it won’t happen to me” set as their mobile ring-tones. That could be the inscription on 1000 gravestones.
As long as we fly, there is the opportunity to stall; it’s part of aerodynamic life. At a nice safe altitude under relatively controlled conditions there is not a lot to scare you. Aerobatic pilots do it all the time. On purpose. And enjoy it. Okay, even I think they’re a little nuts, but they know what they’re doing and practise stalling with regular monotony.
See the correlation? Embrace the practice and dilute the fear.
And there is another effect: you don’t train yourself to recognise the onset of a stall unless you feel it and hear it often. Rather do that at 3000 AGL than on base leg. Then, come the day when you are struggling to cope with circuit traffic, closing weather, a crook passenger and fading daylight all at once, your scattered brain might just register something odd happening during an ever-tightening turn onto final and instinctively know how to deal with it.
There is plenty of reason to be bloody frightened of a stall in the circuit. It’s most likely to happen in a turn or when attempting to stretch the glide to the threshold without upping the power. Either way, you’ve only got a few seconds to set it right, and very rarely enough air under your feet. The faster you react, the more chance you’ve got. Recognising and avoiding the demon is the first step to instant redemption for you and your passengers.
Yes, occasionally you will get an aircraft with stall characteristics like a hurdling bull (try doing a base-configuration stall in an Arrow with 20 MAP set!), or those that flip and dive like a hungry Skua. Awfully uncomfortable and you’ve every reason to be antsy about it, but with an experienced hand on the right yoke and the ground a long way below it can actually be great fun! Until it happens on short final… .
The point is that when we practise stalls at 3500 feet, we are really practising to avoid a stall in the circuit area. If we don’t practise stalls at all, we really are duelling with disaster.
Nowdays, most flying schools demand you do a 90-day dual check; usually a minimum of three circuits. So, you have to pay for someone to watch you fly in circles. Next time, don’t. Grab the instructor and say “three circuits be damned … we’re off to do some stalls!” Make them earn your money.
And maybe then, on your next flight review, your day won’t turn to grunge so quickly.
May your gauges always be in the green,
Hitch