Q and A

As always, if you have any questions, just click on the contact button on the bottom of the page.

In no particular order . . .

1 — Physical fitness and the Department of War

2 — Oxygen rules

3 — Call outs

4 — How to best use an extended leave from flying

5 — Military call signs

6 — Standard Operating Procedures

7 — Tactical breathing

8 — Crosswind landings

9 — Calling it quits

10 — Instructor limits

11 — The OODA Loop

12 — Crosswind limits

13 — Artificial Intelligence

Headline: Secretary of War Pete Hegseth institutes mandatory Physical Training (PT) tests every six months for everyone in the military, including all those fat generals and admirals you see on the news. Across the DoD, oops, the DoW, the troops could be heard to cheer while the fat generals and admirals, well, not so much.

I saw a military podcast recently where a former Navy pilot said, “The Air Force just announced a change to their Physical Training program,” to which the Army pilot said, “They have a Physical Training program?” You can probably guess where I am headed with this.

When I was deciding where to head after high school, I considered the Army, the Navy, the Marines, and the Air Force. My guidance counselor said I should consider the order on a continuum, starting with the Marines, then the Army, then the Navy, and finally the Air Force. The physical fitness required is highest in the Marines, then Army, the Navy, and lastly the Air Force, where physical fitness was said to be a joke. The intelligence required, the story continues, is the opposite. The highest requirement is in the Air Force – the brainiest of the services, then the Navy, the Army, and lastly the Marines, where intelligence was said to be, well, you know. I was six feet tall and weighed a bit less than 150 lbs. I guess my fate was preordained. Maybe a story is in order.

1970s: The “reasonably fit” era

As an Air Force ROTC cadet, the only physical fitness thing we were required to do was to run a mile and a half in 12 minutes or less. That was it. The Army and Navy ROTC cadets seemed to always be in PT gear, but not us. I was told things would get much harsher in Undergraduate Pilot Training with weekly PT.

In 1979, the Air Force budget was slashed to the bone and pilot training slots were cut accordingly. On day one we were told about the weekly PT, complete with a heartless Non Commissioned Officer to beat up on us. But that was expected. We suited up for the first day and the NCO was nowhere to be found. We sat around and three of the four Air National Guard officers in our group lit up cigarettes. Finally, an instructor pilot in a flight suit showed up and told us the budget for PT was cut. But we still had to do the mile and a half that day and would be timed for our annual requirement as officers. Our class commander, an Air National Guard captain and the senior UPT student, told us to gather round for a game plan. He wasn’t one of the smokers, but he looked like he had other, more fattening vices. “Guys, we are going to run in formation.” There were groans. Running in step with forty other guys isn’t easy. “No, that’s the way we are doing it. We need to help the guys who aren’t runners. So, we, as a class, are going to run all six laps in exactly twelve minutes. Now line up.”

Orders are orders, so I lined up somewhere in the middle. “Forward march,” was replaced by “quick time, march!” That’s supposed to be double the pace, but I didn’t notice any difference. If anything, we had slowed down. After the first lap, a quarter of a mile, I checked my watch and estimated we would finish the following Tuesday. The instructor pilot looked at his stopwatch and shook his head. As we neared the opposite end of the track, one of the smokers spoke up between puffs. “How about we make this track more efficient?” The entire group cut the corner, in step. Each lap grew shorter and shorter until the last lap was little more than a circle.

“You guys are taking ‘cooperate and graduate’ to the extreme,” the instructor pilot said, “but you all finished in exactly 12 minutes. And, by the way, you are directed to do your own PT, every week. On the honor system.” I tried to do that, I really did. But I must be honest and say that after two weeks, I forgot about it.

1980s: Pencil whipping until someone dies

My first assignment after pilot training was to Loring AFB, Maine, where I flew the KC-135A tanker and the T-37B trainer. After 22 months I was then sent to Hawaii, having never thought about PT since pilot training. I showed up to my next squadron in Hawaii and the in-processing orderly unsealed the transfer package I was required to carry. (This was in 1982, before such things were automated.) The clerk doing the unsealing eyed my PT card with suspicion, pointing out that I had run my mile and a half in exactly 12 minutes, 0 seconds, three times. He showed me the card and sure enough: someone at Loring pencil whipped my last two runs.

I was 25 years old and suddenly found that I actually like to run, having completed my first of many marathons to come. Suddenly, the 1.5 mile run became easy, and I set my sights on faster and faster. My times steadily decreased from the fictitious 12 minutes to 9 minutes and change. My new goal was to be the fastest runner in the squadron. But Chris Manno, fellow copilot and future cowriter – you really ought to pick up a copy of our book “Whiskey Air” – always beat me and I would have to settle for the second fastest title. Finally, Chris was hired away by American Airlines but he was replaced by someone even faster.

I was picked up by the wing to be base’s head of flight safety and my next PT test was with the members of the wing staff. As I approached, the NCO conducting the test walked up to me and explained the directions for our out-and-back run. I asked him why he was talking to me and not the group. He said, “Because, captain, you are going to be in front, and everyone will be following you.” So off we went, or off I went, hoping to break 9 minutes. I was solo for the “out” and a salmon against the tide for the “back.” I was sure to break 9 minutes, but an ambulance almost ran me over just before the finish. It turns out one of our more sedentary runners had a heart attack and died.

My next squadron also had somebody faster than me but after four years I finally beat him. My time was 8 minutes, 10 seconds. Still not as fast as Chris Manno, but faster than I had ever run that 1.5 mile PT test.

1990s: If the standard is too tough, do something else

My next assignment was to Air Command and Staff College, where several hundred of my classmates were from the Army, Navy, and Marines. The Army and Marines would take a day each week for PT, the Navy a day each month. We Air Force types had PT once a year. Besides having to endure their ridicule, it was nice to be “special.” The ridicule only got worse when, after a third death, the Air Force announced they would replace the 1.5 mile run with a “stress” test on a stationary bike. They wired you up to a heart monitor, you pedaled until your heart rate climbed to 90 percent of your Maximum Heart Rate (MHR), which is 220 minus your age. If, after 5 minutes, you hadn’t passed out, you passed the test.

The first time I did this was at Andrews AFB with the elite 89th Airlift Wing, where some of the pilots appeared to be elite only in the category of packing away donuts and beer. I showed up in my PT gear and was mocked by another pilot who showed up in his blue uniform. He was one of the donut packers. He got on the bike, pedaled and panted, and immediately got to his 90% MHR. In five minutes, he was done. I got on the bike and it took me 30 minutes to get to 90% MHR. I was exhausted.

From Andrews I went to the Pentagon for more harassment from the other services, but no PT test. In fact, I never again had to do a PT test in the next three assignments. I think I was being pencil whipped against my will. (I would have gladly gone to PT as often as they allowed me to, but that never happened.)

2000s: Push-ups and sit-ups

I retired from the Air Force in 2000 but heard that the Air Force returned to the 1.5 mile run and added push-ups and sit-ups. It was still just an annual requirement, however, and I imagine the mighty pencil got more exercise than the people.

Today: The Air Force joins the Department of War

Secretary of War, Pete Hegseth, has directed all the services institute PT every duty day, twice-annual fitness tests, height and weight checks twice per year, and a return to the standards before 1990 when standards were lowered. All good stuff, in my opinion.

The standard excuse from those against these rigid standards is that the Air Force is a more technical service and it is more important to be sharp mentally than physically. But I’ve found officers who don’t meet these higher physical standards tend to be poor leaders and even poor pilots. However, being a realist, I can see the Air Force using brain power to figure this one out. Daily PT will be the individual’s responsibility – “we trust you to do this on your own.” They’ll try to find a way around the twice-annual fitness tests and weigh-ins. I hope SECWAR keeps an eye on the Air Force, said to be the “brainiest” of the services. They are the brainiest, I think, at getting around these kinds of directives.

Semper Fi

You are exactly right. I had many opportunities to work with Marines, both in airplanes and in staff positions. My high school guidance counselor may have had a negative impression of the Army and the Marines as we were ending the Vietnam War and what she saw in those the recruiters were willing to take. All the services are getting more technical and we in the Air Force have never had a monopoly on brains. I am working on a compendium of newsletters for the website. Do you mind if I post your email, with your name redacted?

Despite being a bit of a germaphobe, I’ve always been pretty strict about oxygen rules. Why? Maybe it is because I’ve had two rapid depressurizations. But more than that, I think making the first exception to a rule leads to the second, and the third, and so on. That being said, I have been fortunate to fly mostly Part 91 aircraft that can fly economically at or below FL410, minimizing my time on oxygen, and with comfortable masks. When one pilot leaves the flight deck above FL350, we do wear oxygen. When oceanic we may spend several hours above FL410 and will trade off oxygen duties, one hour at a time. But I recognize there are health issues concerning breathing oxygen from old systems where the masks may be cleaned regularly but the rest of the system may never have been sterilized since the airplane was built.

I write about this here: Oxygen.

I’d like to add to that by saying you shouldn’t fly with the mask removed from its container and in your lap to make it easier to access. If you have a rapid decompression, that mask could be torn from you and then you’ll have nothing.

I’ve been interested in this for a very long time and noticed there really isn’t a standard. When I started as a standards pilot for TAG Aviation, we had over 30 call outs, which is too many. I called around to various airlines, management companies, and a few self-managed flight departments. I think most organizations adhere to the “less is more” idea. On the other hand, when the Gulfstream GVII first came out, they had only one call out during approach and that was “go around,” silence was equated with concurrence. I took my initial qualification under those rules and found that very uncomfortable. Within six months, Gulfstream gave up on that and added most of the missing call outs. Here are the call outs I prefer: Call Outs.

Sorry to hear about the job but glad to hear you are on the road to recovery. I was medically grounded for a year many years ago and have also had other non-flying periods of a year or more while the Air Force assigned me to various schools or desk duties. (In case you were wondering, flying a desk at the Pentagon isn’t as much fun as really flying.) I hope I can provide some advice based on these and the experiences of a few friends.

Study as if it is your job. You will obviously be spending time on the hunt for another job, but that will probably leave you with more time on your hands than you had before. I have found it useful to block off eight hours each day “on the job.” The job, in this context, means doing whatever it takes to find another position and doing all the personal study you had always meant to do if only you had the time. I recommend getting a blank notebook and, with the Internet at your side, filling at least a few pages each day with deep dives into aviation topics that will serve you well in the future. Being able to hold tangible results from each day can be a great morale booster as well as keeping the aviation side of your brain sharp.

Desktop simulators, with a twist. I’ve known many pilots who kept their hand in the game from their desktop computers or home game consoles using flight simulators. Most of these ended up as little more than games to wile away the hours but there is a way to make these hours more productive. First, unless you already have them, don’t waste your money on realistic yokes, sticks, rudder pedals, throttles, or other things to heighten the realism. That isn’t your purpose. Second, choose an aircraft similar to what you have flown for a job. Microsoft Flight Simulator, for example, has a range of airliner and business jets. You don’t need an exact match, just something with a similar speed, range, and cruising altitude. Third, treat each flight as you would a real-world trip from your last job. Do the mission planning, follow the checklist, and do it all in real time. Keep a log and don’t forget the postflight critique. Some of these programs offer a playback mode and you can watch these as an evaluator to provide the critique.

FlightSafety or other school intern duties. If you are within driving distance of a flight school with full motion simulators, you might consider volunteering as a non-paid (or barely paid) intern. I flew with a few such interns who acted as first officers in the simulator while the paying client got the formal training. These interns became very good but rarely lasted more than six months before getting hired away. You might meet your next employer this way.

Volunteer dispatcher. If your employer can’t pay you when you are medically qualified to fly, they might consider you for a non-flying job until you are able to pass your next physical. Or you might shop yourself around in one of these roles. It may seem demeaning or not worth the time, but it keeps your mind in the game and may turn up the next flying job.

Other job opportunities. Finally, you should consider the benefits of sharing your accumulated skills in jobs that don’t require a medical. There are aviation classrooms that could benefit from a pilot instructor with actual experience as a professional pilot. You can also parlay your experience as an instructor into other branches of academia. You are only limited by your imagination.

First of all, thanks for the kind words about Fly By Wired. I have never been a fighter pilot and my only flights in fighters were as a “guest” with an instructor pilot. The squadron I commanded did bestow call signs on its pilots, as instituted by the ops officer who took the call sign “Hammer.” By the time he was done, every pilot had a call sign. He wanted me to pick my own. I never got around to it, so he bestowed “Commander.” I know, lame.

I spent a month with an Air Force F-4 squadron where call signs were bequeathed by a callsign committee. I think the objective in most Air Force squadrons is to make the call sign somewhat complimentary. A few pilots that I’ve known from the Air Force: “Killer,” “Heater,” “Mad Dog,” and “Psycho.” Yes, all those were considered favorable.

Several of my tours in the Air Force were “joint,” meaning we had officers from other services. The Navy pilots had call signs that were anything but complimentary. Retired Navy F-14 NFO Ward Carroll, call sign “Mooch,” wrote a good book called “Punks War,” where he describes the Navy process:

Within the world of call signs there exists an unspoken hierarchy. At the bottom, were aviators without one. Some were never given call signs because their existence was too neutral to earn one. . . . Just above [these] were aviators whose call signs that were formed by mindlessly placing a “y” at the end of their last names, like “Jonesy” and “Smitty.” At the same level were the “what else you going to call them?” like “Soup” Campbell, “Mack” McManus, “Pink” Floyd, and “Taco” Bell. All Hosanas were reserved for those who practice the art of commission, those iconoclasts who brightly forged a path through the jungle of the mundane, and across the textbook of etiquette, who reached out for what they knew in their hearts to be rightfully theirs: the call sign earned by a quirk, a habit pattern, or a single stupid or perhaps compromising and most likely embarrassing act, a call sign that begged the tell, a call sign that demanded the answer why?

In a podcast, Mooch expands on this by giving as an example from one of this F-14 squadrons a pilot named Wallace. He was immediately given “Rusty” Wallace, after a NASCAR driver. Months later they were deployed to a desert location where Rusty blew a tire, departed the runway, and his Tomcat was covered in sand. He then became known as “Dusty” Wallace. Pilots who rarely show up and are hard to find can earn the call sign “Elvis.” Pilots who have “gastrological” accidents in their birds can become known as “Stain.”

I can see a valid reason for call signs in a fighter squadron where pilots in formation have a need to call out other aircraft expeditiously. The call sign is tactically useful. Let’s say you need your wingman to break right to avoid being shot. “Mad Dog, break right” works better than “Lieutenant Harvey Smith, break right,” or even “Tomcat Three Eleven, break right.” But this view isn’t universal. I watched an interview of a British Tornado fighter pilot where the question was, “Why don’t you Brits have pilot call signs?” His answer was meant to be funny, but I guess you need to understand British humor: “Because we weren’t abused as children.”

I don’t see a tactical reason for pilot call signs in an airlift, bomber, or tanker squadron. “Hammer,” from my squadron thought it was good for esprit de corps and maybe it was. But if you can think of a tactical reason, please let me know!

Please take a look at this: SOPs.

As I say in that article, I’ve been where you are. It isn’t easy, but you can plow your way out. Each one of the chapters in that article have a Microsoft Word document you can take and modify to suit your needs. I wrote each of these templates using a company operations manuals I wrote for TAG Aviation back in 2002. I wrote that manual from scratch so there are no copyright issues. Please take it and adjust as you see necessary. When attacking this problem early on, it may be best to start small and work from there. Since it is just two of you, it might be best to empower the other person to have a considerable voice. When did this at my last flight department, with three pilots, I made one of the other pilots the “Director of Standards” and the other the “Director of Safety.” I think this made them feel they were are part of the process, not the target of it.

The solution to the question of the flight captain also being the ultimate approval authority is robust Standard Operating Procedures. When I started in that last flight department, long duty days were the rule not the exception. I wrote a 14-hour day limit with very specific rules for limited exceptions. I sent our new SOPs to our insurance broker, who gave us a discount for having them. Whenever we had cause to waive our duty day limit, I made clear to our passengers it was an exception to the rules. The first time I refused a trip because it was too long, they asked why. I told them their safety was too important to trust the judgement of a pilot tired from a long day and the rules protect the pilot from himself or herself, as well as the passengers from an exhausted pilot’s judgment.

Good luck! This can be an exciting time. When I retired after 14 years with that company, the CEO says it was the flight department that I built. She said, “you created that.” It is hard work, but it is gratifying work.

You are exactly right that rapid breathing can cause hyperventilation, but I think the 2-second hold might prevent that. (But I don’t know that for sure.) When I was in Air Force pilot training in 1979, most students were taught only to grunt and tighten their abdomens to fight the Gs in the Cessna T-37, where 4 to 5 Gs were about all we would see routinely. But I guess I am not as G tolerant as some, so I was taught the breathing method earlier than most, and that did the trick for me. Interesting, in the Northrop T-38, wearing a G-suit helped me tremendously and I rarely needed the breathing technique unless the Gs piled on above 5.

In the years to come, I adapted the technique for any stressful event. Let me relate a somewhat silly story and then I’ll get to the actual “tactical breathing” technique, as given by an expert.

The story

There I was, in the left seat of an EC-135J (Boeing 707) with an explosive charge igniting in the Number 3 engine, allowing that engine to come to idle quickly. I had a brand-new copilot in the right seat and behind us sat 6 crewmembers and 30 passengers from the U.S. Navy. Their job was to control the nuclear submarine fleet and our job in the front of the airplane was to launch as soon as possible.

"There's idle and here comes max continuous," I said while pushing up the Number 3 throttle. "You got Number 3," I said to the copilot, who placed his left hand on the throttle. His job would be to keep the Engine Pressure Ratio of that engine where it needed to be, so I could cross-bleed start the other three engines. We were being graded by our Navy passengers to see how quickly we could get off the ground, so they could be later graded for whatever it was they did with the submarines. As the last of the engines came to life I made a very big mistake. I said to the copilot, "Idle on three." To which the copilot immediately slammed the throttle to idle. All I could do was watch the gauges and hope the compressor stalls didn't over-temp the engine and the explosions to come didn't shake the airplane apart. These engines tended to do this, mostly on the ground, and you learned to treat them gently.

"Kaboom!" loud enough to cause my ears to ring, and I assume the ears of the other 37 people onboard. "Kaboom!" it sounded again, two seconds later, with a little less volume. "Kaboom," again. I knew the engine would keep this up for almost a minute, after which I would deplane the crew chiefs to survey the damage.

"What are you doing?" a voice sounded from behind me. I turned to see a Navy Captain (the equivalent of an Air Force colonel).

"Breathing," I said.

"Breathing?" he asked.

"Yes sir," I said. "I'll deal with the engine when it is safe to do so."

A minute later the "kabooms" stopped, five minutes after that the crew chiefs announced the engine was okay, and five minutes after that we took off.

Two days later the squadron commander asked me to explain my answer. "One deep breath through the nose, hold it for two seconds, one slow exhale through the mouth. Repeat." That wasn't the answer he was looking for. But it has always worked for me.

Tactical breathing: the theory

If you have a job in law enforcement, the infantry, or any job where you find yourself in someone else's gun sight, I highly recommend Lt. Col Dave Grossman's book, "On Combat." He often calls that part of our brain that acts primitively the "puppy brain." Our puppy brains are in charge of our heart rate and perspiration, and we have no direct control of either. Don't believe me? Okay, right now, raise your heart rate to 200 beats per minute and break out in a sweat. Couldn't do it, huh? So, if you are in a situation where your heart is racing and you are sweating buckets, what can you do to control that?

Tactical breathing: the technique

There is still a need for extensive research to see how long each phase should be held, but for many years now the four-count method has worked wonders for warriors around the globe. Once you start using it, you can tailor it to your body's needs. For example, you might find that you need to hold each count for five seconds and that you need five cycles of the procedure to achieve the desired effect. This is fine. It is like adjusting a tuning knob: Grab hold of the knob and keep tuning it until you get "dialed in" to the level that works for you. For now, let us use the four-count method. Begin by breathing in through your nose to a slow count of four, which expands your belly like a balloon. Hold for a count of four, and then slowly exhale through your lips for a count of four, as your belly collapses like a balloon with its air released. Hold empty for a count of four and then repeat the process. That is it. Short, but effective. Now, follow along as I guide you through the procedure.

In through the nose two, three, four. Hold two, three, four. Out through the lips two, three, four. Hold two, three, four.

In through the nose two, three, four. Hold two, three, four. Out through the lips two, three, four. Hold two, three, four.

In through the nose two, three, four. Hold two, three, four. Out through the lips two, three, four. Hold two, three, four.

Maybe you are feeling a little mellow now or maybe you didn't notice a difference since you were already relaxed. But in a life and death situation, we know this simple exercise can be a true revolution in human development. For the first time in human history, we are teaching large portions of our population to consciously control the unconscious part of their body.

Source: Grossman, Dave, On Combat: The Psychology and Physiology of Deadly Conflict in War and Peace, pp. 331 - 332

This technique has been taught for years now and if you want to learn more about the stories of the many law enforcement and military combat veterans who credit it for saving their lives, I encourage you to give the book a read. But even if you aren't in the practice of putting yourself in life and death situations, I encourage you to learn tactical breathing. You may find yourself in a car accident or a natural disaster where you too may find it a life saver.

Dear Long Wings,

We have a similar issue in the Gulfstream world, but maybe easier since we stand a bit taller than the Global. I was waiting to takeoff at Teterboro one day and watched aircraft after aircraft land using the wing low technique when a de-crab was more appropriate. A few aircraft landed in a crab, which is okay for some aircraft but not all. It sounds like your pilots are using the wing low method. If that is true, you need to stop! I’ve heard the Global should be landed with a de-crab. Here is a link explaining each of these techniques: Crosswind Landings.

Signed,
James

Dear Long Wings,

I got a copy of the BD-700 Flight Crew Operating Manual, §04-08-15, ¶10, and verified you should be using a de-crab, something Bombardier calls “the wings level crab technique.” I added an extract to my website article. Please find the reference in your manuals and have your chief pilot read it carefully. I find that most pilots simply assume they know how to land an airplane and quickly skim over these things. The important lesson: not all airplanes fly the same way.

Signed,
James

There are two main drivers to this question: legal and practical.

On the legal side, if you fly commercially, in most parts of the world you are done at 65. If you fly under general aviation rules, such as 14 CFR 91, then in most parts of the world you don’t have that limit, though some countries will not allow you to act as the Pilot in Command above the age of 60. That is where I found myself when I retired from flying. I was good to go everywhere we go except Europe, where I was relegated to SIC duties. I’ve known pilots who flew for a Part 91 operation well into their seventies, but more on that later.

On the practical side of things, we pilots must come to grips that when we get older: (a) we are not as mentally and physically able to fulfil our aviator duties, and (b) we are not likely to recognize our own recently acquired limitations. I’ve known pilots who used to be very sharp but were no longer mentally up to the task when they got into their forties. In some cases, it was an inability to focus on what needed to be focused on, in others it was a lack of desire. Physical limitations are in theory caught by required flight physicals, but not all doctors are as diligent as others and not all physical frailties are caught by the exam. Let’s look at an example of each problem, mental and physical.

Many years ago, I gave several annual check rides to one of the sharpest pilots I’ve ever known. Let’s call him Archibald. He was conscientious and serious about his profession. He reacted favorably to my critiques and every year he showed marked improvement. As the leader of his flight department, Archibald was well respected by his subordinates and his peers. After the last check ride I ever gave him, I noticed a few more problems than usual, but nothing really major. I signed his paperwork and asked if he had any questions for me. He told me he had just turned 60 and was worried about flying in Europe. I explained the rules and he seemed relieved. I asked him how long he planned on flying. “Forever, as long as I can hire younger pilots to babysit me.” I changed companies and never flew with Archibald again, though I would see him around town and asked how the flying was going. “Great!” “Couldn’t be better!”

A few years later I ran into one of Archibald’s pilots who told me Archibald was “asked to retire” by the company. Archibald, as it turned out, had worried his pilots for more than five years. They had to watch everything he did and worked hard to cover up any major problems. Everybody loved Archibald and nobody wanted to see him fail. But fail he did. His instrument skills had deteriorated, he was easily distracted in the cockpit, and his decision making had become hit or miss. The company brought in a new leader, reasoning they couldn’t trust any of their pilots who failed to let them know that old Archibald wasn’t as good as young Archibald. Archibald has since disappeared from the scene. I imagine he feels betrayed and perhaps he was. We, his friends, should have been more forthright with him.

That was about five years ago, right about when I was contemplating retiring. I let our CEO know that, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted me to buy her a new airplane and knew that would consume me for a while. And it did. But all the while I knew I wasn’t physically up to the job. My night vision suffers, but I somehow pass the eye test every six months. My hearing went a long time ago. I get tired more easily. The aches and pains . . . ah, I am dancing around the biggest issue. Decision making. My brain just isn’t as fast as it used to be. Was I reliving Archibald’s experience? When you’ve run a flight department for over ten years – at least if you’ve done well at it – your people tend to take care of you and are reluctant to tell you that your piloting skills have, well, declined. Maybe I was becoming Archibald.

No, I had a distinct advantage over Archibald: the “What’s the DEAL?” postflight debrief. We long ago adopted the practice of using the DEAL acronym following a flight. The pilot who was the Pilot Monitoring asks, “What’s the DEAL?” Then the pilot who was the Pilot Flying covers the flight using the acronym. “D” refers to the departure and covers everything from the preflight, engine start, taxi out, takeoff, and departure. “E” is the en route portion. “A” is the arrival and includes the descent, approach, landing, taxi in, shut down, and postflight. “L” refers to any logbook/maintenance issues. But key to this debrief is how it is conducted. The PF critiques him/herself honestly and invites comments. “I landed a little long today, I’m not sure if it was the gusty wind or just me looking for the greaser. What did you see?” “I think you were a little fast on short final, and that might have contributed.”

I tend to be brutal on my self-critiques and while always polite, my pilots offered helpful advice on how to up my game. I always accepted the advice and did my best to learn. But the exercise was, well, embarrassing. As soon as I was sure my heir apparent was up to speed, I pulled the trigger. That’s my story. Your story is no doubt different. But if you are introspective and honest with yourself, you will know when the time comes.

You are quite right that it is too early to speculate and that there might be Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion factors to consider. Envoy, the regional carrier in question, used to brag about “unmanned” flights but after the crash, their DEI page has gone missing. On the other hand, with many accidents the causes appear obvious in the days after. But in the months after we discover something that proves our first analysis to be no better than a wild guess. I suspect that will be the case with both these events.

Until the facts come out, there is something else useful for us to ponder. In both incidents, the young female pilot flying was being monitored by an instructor or examiner who should have, in theory, been able to take over. You might argue the male instructor watching a female first officer or examinee has a dynamic worth considering. Maybe. But I would like to throw all that out and talk about the problem all instructors face: how far do you let the student go before taking over? Step in too early: you lose the training opportunity. Step in too late: bad things happen.

The book Equity Airlines includes seven guiding principles for instructors, one of which I would consider a prime directive for all instructor pilots:

Don’t let the student exceed your limitations.

This principle applies to more than just instructors, it also applies to captains acting as the Pilot Monitoring (PM) for a first officer as the Pilot Flying (PF). Some airlines restrict their captains to higher minimums until they have a minimum level of experience, calling these captains “High Mins Captains.” The restriction is usually lifted after 100 hours, subconsciously conveying to the captain that they are invincible after that milestone. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Not all pilots are created equally, and not all pilots have equal abilities even after they achieve a lofty title. To a private pilot, the Airline Transport Pilot certificate would seem to be the end goal for all pilots. All ATP holders know – or should know – that it is just the beginning of a long journey of learning and building experience. You are never at the “end goal,” it is a journey that is never really complete.

I have been the first officer assigned to a trip when the captain asked me to take the landing, realizing the challenge to come was beyond his or her comfort level. I have also been the captain where I cheerfully gave the first officer the landing, thinking we were in better hands with the right seater doing the honors. This may seem apocryphal to some captains. If you aren’t up to the task – whatever the task – you shouldn’t be a captain. I’m not so sure. But I guess I’ve digressed. Back to the subject at hand.

As the captain, the instructor, or the examiner, you have a choice to make prior to every takeoff, landing, or any other challenging procedure. Is the other pilot up to the task and if they make a mistake, will you have the ability to fix what is broken? That may seem to be a question too hard to answer, so let’s break it into several sequential questions, the first “no” answer ends the process.

1) Could you fly the maneuver on your own, solo?

2) Is the student qualified to fly the maneuver with your supervision in the conditions present?

3) If the student makes a mistake of any kind, will you have the ability to offer corrections in a timely manner to keep the maneuver safe and provide valuable training?

4) If the student makes a mistake of any kind, will you have the ability to take control and keep the operation safe?

Landing with a gusty crosswind may seem like just another day at the office for many experienced pilots, pilots with relevant experience in the type of aircraft and the conditions. They may not realize that the situation may be well beyond the other pilot’s abilities. Flying a dangerous maneuver at night, with night vision goggles, maybe something you and the other pilot have done hundreds of times without problems. But adding the pressure of a check ride changes things for the examiner and examinee. The questions I’ve presented need to be asked on every flight, for every situation. There are many advantages to a crew with more than one pilot. But the advantages are not free to the captain. If the answer to any of these questions is no, the plan needs to change.

My favorite fighter pilot of all time was Air Force Colonel John Boyd, who was famous for the “40-second rule,” the “Energy-Maneuverability (E-M) theory, and the OODA Loop. As a Fighter Weapons School instructor pilot, he was said to be able to defeat any adversary in 40 seconds or less. He rarely lost. How did he do that? He turned what was mostly “yank and bank better than the other guy” fighter combat art into a science by emphasizing efficiency in maneuvering in air combat. And I think most importantly, he devised combat tactics that apply to more than just fighter combat, with the OODA loop. As he put it: “In order to win, we should operate at a faster tempo or rhythm than our adversaries – or, better yet, get inside adversary’s Observation – Orientation – Decision – Action time cycle or loop.” He further explains, “Such activity will make us appear ambiguous (unpredictable) thereby generate confusion and disorder among our adversaries – since our adversaries will be unable to generate mental images or pictures that agree with the menacing as well as faster transient rhythm or patterns they are competing against.”

His briefing, called “Patterns of Conflict,” was first presented in 1981 on acetate slides. Copies of the presentation made their way throughout the Air Force. In today-speak, the presentation went viral.

So let’s look at the OODA loop in the context of a dogfight first, and then apply it to the politics you ask about, and finally to our lives in general.

In a dog fight

Observe

In a dogfight, this is about spotting the enemy plane, tracking its movements, and picking up cues like speed, altitude, or angle of attack. Pilots rely on their eyes, radar, and cockpit instruments to gather real-time data. A good pilot notices not just the obvious (where’s the bogey?) but subtle hints (is he turning? climbing?).

Orient

This is where the pilot processes what they see. They interpret the enemy’s position and behavior based on their training, knowledge of their own aircraft’s capabilities (e.g., F-86 Sabre vs. MiG-15 in Boyd’s era), and the physics of flight. Boyd stressed this step because a pilot’s mental model—how well they understand the situation—determines their edge. If they misjudge the enemy’s energy state or intent, they’re toast.

Decide

Decisions happen fast, often instinctively, because hesitation means death. “Speed is life.” Boyd’s insight was that the best choice isn’t always the most complex; it’s the one that exploits the enemy’s weaknesses while playing to your strengths.

Act

The pilot executes the move. The outcome immediately feeds back into the Observe phase. If the enemy dodges, the loop restarts instantly.

Getting inside the enemy’s OODA Loop

Boyd’s big revelation came from studying why American F-86 pilots outperformed MiG-15s in Korea, despite the MiG’s superior speed and climb rate. He found it wasn’t just the plane; it was the pilot’s ability to cycle through the OODA loop faster. The F-86 had better visibility (a bubble canopy) and quicker hydraulic controls, letting pilots observe and act more rapidly. Meanwhile, MiG pilots, stuck in a slower loop, couldn’t keep up—they’d still be deciding while the F-86 was already turning inside them.

In dogfights, the OODA loop’s speed is life or death. Boyd called this “getting inside the opponent’s loop”—acting so fast that the enemy’s still reacting to your last move while you’re onto your next. It’s psychological as much as physical: disorient them, break their rhythm, and they’re done.

In politics

I hadn’t thought about the OODA Loop in terms of our current political climate, but it does make sense. President Trump has observed the relevant 80/20 issues, those which have 80% public approval / 20% disapproval. He has oriented his executive orders accordingly, makes decisions rapid fire, and acts quickly. By the time his adversaries manage a response, he and his team are on to the next battle. He is inside their OODA Loop.

In our lives as aviators

A fixture of instrument flight, in the days before electronic flight directors and flight management computers, was the control-performance technique. We as pilots would maneuver the aircraft to specific attitudes and power settings, observe the resulting performance, and make adjustments to the attitude and power settings based on those observations. It was a simple OODA Loop of sorts.

Now that our cockpits are more computerized and many of those computers are making those attitude and power setting adjustments for us, it seems we pilots are outside the OODA Loop completely. But that isn’t true. I think we need to observe what the automation is doing, orient our perceptions of the resulting aircraft performance, and then decide and act on that. We still need the OODA Loop, but our task has become vastly more complicated if we want to keep ahead of the aircraft. The danger is that we can completely cede the OODA Loop to the automation, which makes us nothing more than passengers. While not an adversary, the aircraft itself now has an OODA Loop of its own and it is up to us to harmonize that with our pilot OODA Loops.

In our lives as people

The OODA Loop goes beyond fighter tactics and politics; it describes how individuals and organizations process information and respond to situations, especially in competitive or dynamic environments like combat, business, or sports.

Observe

This is the phase where you gather information from your surroundings. It involves perceiving raw data—sights, sounds, events, or changes in the environment—through your senses or tools. The goal is to take in as much relevant detail as possible without jumping to conclusions.

Orient

Here, you analyze and interpret the information you’ve observed. This step is about making sense of the data by filtering it through your experiences, knowledge, culture, and mental models. Boyd emphasized this as the most critical stage because how you orient shapes everything that follows. If your orientation is off (due to bias, outdated assumptions, or incomplete info), your decisions will be flawed.

Decide

Based on your orientation, you choose a course of action. This is where you weigh options, assess risks, and commit to a plan. It’s not just about picking the "best" option but doing so quickly and effectively under pressure.

Act

Finally, you execute the decision. This is where the rubber meets the road—you put your plan into motion and see how it plays out. The loop doesn’t end here, though; the results of your action feed back into the Observe phase, starting the cycle again.

The OODA loop’s power lies in its speed and adaptability. Boyd argued that in a conflict, the side that can cycle through the loop faster—constantly observing, reorienting, deciding, and acting—gains the upper hand by disrupting their opponent’s rhythm and forcing them to react rather than act proactively. It’s less a rigid checklist and more a fluid, iterative process for staying ahead in chaotic or uncertain situations.

Limitations

I learned the OODA Loop in the mid-eighties and have tried to use it with mixed success. If you are operating on an even playing field, it works. But if dealing with a superior who has the power of the paycheck, getting inside that person’s OODA Loop is likely to get you fired. (Ask me how I know that!) Getting inside the OODA Loop can burn bridges; Colonel Boyd’s life demonstrates that many times. He angered Air Force leadership by proving many of their weapon system acquisitions were wrong. His combat tactics were employed by the Air Force, the Navy, the Army, and the Marines and proved themselves during the 1991 Gulf War. The only time I saw Colonel Boyd was during an award ceremony following the war and after his retirement at the Pentagon. The other services had generals and admirals in attendance. The Air Force sent a lieutenant colonel.

Boyd’s life is both fascinating and tragic. I highly recommend his biography by Robert Coram. I reviewed it here: Boyd.

I think that Challenger crew was lucky to have escaped with just some damaged tires. Very few business jets have published crosswind limits, but some do. Most have “demonstrated crosswind limits,” and some have only demonstrated values given without the word “limit” added. That begs the question: what is the actual limit? The confusion all starts with 14 CFR 25:

A 90-degree cross component of wind velocity, demonstrated to be safe for takeoff and landing, must be established for dry runways and must be at least 20 knots or 0.2 VSR0, whichever is greater, except that it need not exceed 25 knots.

Source: 14 CFR 25, ¶25.237

I write about this in my book, Aviate: A Professional Aviator’s Notebook. So, let’s say you are taking off in your Falcon with those winds, a peak crosswind of 42 knots. Your manual says 30 knots has been demonstrated but going higher is at your discretion. How do you make that decision?

The aircraft might be capable of 42 knots, but the manufacturer decided 30 was what the launch customer wanted, that was good enough under Part 25, and that’s all they would sign up to. Or it could be that the aircraft’s actual limit is 30 and just one more knot of wind will be unflyable. You don’t know.

In my opinion, pushing the aircraft into a flight regime that hasn’t been published by the manufacturer makes you a test pilot. You might be fine with that, but I doubt your employer or passengers would agree. As far as they are concerned, your job is to guarantee their safe transportation from Point A to Point B. If your boss asks why you aren’t flying when other aircraft of similar type are, a good answer would be, “They are taking a calculated risk with their passengers’ safety. I am unwilling to risk your aircraft and your lives on an operation the manufacturer is unwilling to guarantee.”

Let me answer your last question first: yes, I use AI a lot. Here are the questions I’ve asked in the last twenty-four hours:

1) How do you clean a burr-type coffee grinder?

2) How do I get rid of unneeded art boards in Adobe Illustrator?

3) How do I add a URL to a LinkedIn post?

4) How do I change the cabin air filter in a 2022 Tesla Model Y?

5) In the sentence, “You need to listen, colonel, you need to understand,” is the word “colonel” capitalized?

Of particular note about that last one, ChatGPT answered yes, colonel in that sentence should be capitalized. A few hours later, I asked the exact same question and got the exact opposite answer.

I find most of the available AI programs to be useful, but not completely trustworthy. When flight planning, using AI for initial research can save you a lot of time, but the answers bear scrutiny. For example, I asked ChatGPT if the runway at Fitchburg Municipal Airport (KFIT), MA can handle a G800. The AI correctly noted that the G800’s ACN exceeds the airport’s runway pavement strength.

I was recently tasked with setting up a trip into Venice, Italy for our U.S. based airplane. I doubted the boss would agree to the disinsection rules adopted there a few years ago. While the rules vary across the world, Italy does require aircraft from the U.S. be disinsected within the previous eight weeks and have that treatment certified. So, I gave the boss the bad news. The next day, the boss’ executive assistant called up and said she didn’t remember her airline flight to Italy last year having to go through the spray routine. I told her the airlines were also required to comply, but the spray only has to be done in the last eight weeks, so it was probably done well before her flight, maybe even weeks before her flight. Later that day, she called to say ChatGPT told her that only private aircraft required disinsection and that the airlines were exempt. So, I had the following conversation with ChatGPT:

- Me: Do commercial airlines require disinsection before flying to Italy?

- ChatGPT: If you’re flying to Italy aboard a commercial airline, you generally do not need to worry about disinsection—these requirements primarily apply to certain general aviation and business aviation aircraft arriving from regions affected by vector-borne diseases (e.g., areas with Aedes aegypti mosquitoes).

- Me: What about scheduled airlines?

- ChatGPT: Scheduled commercial airlines aren’t typically inspected or sprayed as long as they operate regular routes and follow standard procedures. No documented cases or official sources currently list commercial airlines as regularly disinsected when flying into Italy.

- Me: Is there an official document from Italy that details disinsection rules?

- ChatGPT: Yes, the official document is Italian Civil Aviation (ENAC) Circular EAL 10 – 21 September 2012. This circular states that all aircraft arriving at Italian airports must carry a Certificate of Residual Disinsection, regardless of the flight’s origin. This requirement reflects Italy’s implementation of ICAO Annex 9 standards and is enforced by ENAC in coordination with the Ministry of Health.

- Me: Doesn't this document require all aircraft be disinsected? Including commercial?

- ChatGPT: Yes — Italy’s ENAC regulations do require all aircraft arriving in the country to carry a Certificate of Residual Disinsection, regardless of whether they’re commercial airlines or private/business jets.

I guess I’m happy that I was vindicated in the end, but it does show the boss is checking my work with AI! To answer your question, I don’t see AI putting us out of work anytime soon, but if you know the right questions (and follow up questions) to ask, AI will save you a lot of time. Just don’t make any critical decisions without giving AI’s answers extra scrutiny.