Finally, the checkride is tomorrow. We took off from our base airport, and I felt the most nervous I’ve been throughout all my training. The air around Salt Airport is notoriously turbulent, and the rough air really shook me. I made a lot of small mistakes even before takeoff. Despite all my preparation, the day before the checkride, I just wasn’t feeling motivated.
Traffic Pattern at Salt Airport
Once we arrived at Salt Airport, I started to calm down a bit. After landing, we parked to check out the building where I would take the checkride. Then, we contacted the tower with the updated ATIS and taxied to the runway.
We went over final checks and practiced several maneuvers. While flying, we discussed things like overshooting on the base-to-final turn, braking technique for short-field takeoffs, when to pick up the VASI during landing, reference points for pattern turns, timing for adding power on soft-field landings, smooth lowering of the nose on soft-field takeoffs, braking on landing, and correcting for wind. Going through these details really helped refine each maneuver.
But when the controller gave me a complicated instruction, I lost altitude or made other minor errors. I had moments where I forgot the simplest mantra: “Fly the airplane.” It was a good reminder: don’t rush, stay calm, and focus on the basics.
Happenings Prepared for Tomorrow?
Salt Airport is usually very windy and turbulent. On that day, the rough air was made even more challenging by an increase in traffic, leading to eventful—and occasionally confusing—traffic patterns.
At one point, I was instructed by ATC to make an S-turn to accommodate other traffic. The controller’s instruction wasn’t immediately clear, so I tried to maintain a higher approach path to perform a forward slip—a maneuver used to quickly lose altitude without increasing airspeed. While I was struggling with the forward slip, I received the same instruction again, this time to make two S-turns. There was just no way—I was too busy keeping the plane under control!
To make matters more complex, heavy traffic ahead prompted ATC to instruct me to do a 360-degree turn, essentially flying in a circle and returning to the traffic pattern. Reading back the instruction felt like tongue twister: “make three chicks tee!” The strong wind made the maneuver feel even more turbulent and overwhelming. Despite the chaos, going through this series of challenges prepared me well for my checkride the next day.
Initial Fragment of a Cross-Country
During the checkride, student pilots must demonstrate the initial fragment of a cross-country flight designated by the examiner. While practicing, I nearly entered controlled airspace without permission—a close call. Had I actually entered, it could have had serious consequences for my license. That experience reinforced the importance of careful planning and constant situational awareness.
Airworks and Final Checks
The level of completeness in my preparation was satisfactory, but the moment I get distracted, everything can collapse suddenly—like a tire coming off because a nut is loose. We completed all the other final checks, including the airport’s unique local rules, nearby terrain, and airspace considerations.
Are You OK with the Checkride Tomorrow?
With the checkride scheduled for tomorrow, I wished I could fly perfectly today so I could rest well tonight. My fear of windy conditions likely stems from a past experience on a jetliner, where I encountered severe turbulence and ended up on the floor while walking down the aisle. I shared this with my instructor, and he reassured me that such turbulence wouldn’t happen at the altitudes we fly at. He also pointed out that I was panicking unnecessarily. His words resonated deeply. I accepted his perspective as an accurate reading of the situation, which not only helped me with the checkride but also influenced how I approach challenges in daily life. That’s why I adopted a new mindset: not to let windy conditions bother me too much.
You’ll Be OK, As Long As You Don’t Lose Heart
After getting out of the plane, I wasn’t in a great mood. The instructor said, “You’ll be OK, as long as you don’t lose heart. You’ve done everything well.” And he was right—my success or failure really depends on my mindset.
In an FAA checkride, partial success is possible. For example, your takeoffs and landings might be fine, but a cross-country flight could be a failure—or maybe your soft-field landing isn’t perfect, but everything else is solid. In such cases, you only need to retest the parts that didn’t pass.
I decided that no matter what happens tomorrow, I wouldn’t lose heart. If any maneuver or exercise is considered a failure, I’ll keep going and aim to succeed in as many areas as possible.
From an objective standpoint, it’s a fifty-fifty chance. I’ve done the best I could, so whether I succeed or fail, it doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping my focus and confidence. I’m determined not to lose heart at any point tomorrow. (continued)
2.7（7）Night Cross-Country: Learning to Handle Stress on My Own Initiative
Even after I spoke up, the instructor continued the lesson as usual. Despite challenging myself to speak out, I stayed focused and followed instructions carefully. This mindset boosted my motivation, helping me to take initiative and act responsibly in the cockpit instead of relying on others.
For example, during arrival procedures—deciding when to monitor ATIS, when to contact the controller, what altitude to enter the airspace, when to start descending—I used to depend on the instructor, worrying about making mistakes. But that day, I consciously shifted to thinking and acting on my own.
I also applied a tip my peer had given me: to verbalize every intention at each moment. These efforts paid off, resulting in smooth arrival procedures and a precise short-field landing. While the landing itself earned praise, what impressed the instructor most was my ability to take initiative—an affirmation that truly reinforced my confidence.
With only four days left until my checkride, I faced another night cross-country flight to Cardamon Airport. After a brief rest, I prepared my navigation log and other materials. Flying at night proved more challenging than I expected—ground features were hard to spot, and lakes appeared pitch black, offering no visual cues. I quickly realized that it’s smarter to plan routes that follow well-lit areas whenever possible. Cardamon Airport itself was reassuringly large, with a runway over 7,700 feet long—a comforting sight after a tense flight.
VFR Corridor (Special Flight Rules Area)
Flying from Cilantro Airport to Cardamon Airport means passing over one of the largest airports in the U.S. Normally, the airspace around such airports stretches from the surface up to 10,000 feet, keeping small training aircraft away. However, a long passage known as a VFR Corridor (or Special Flight Rules Area) allows small aircraft to safely transit at a specific altitude along a designated VOR radial—a path I would follow.
While flying in the VFR Corridor, pilots maintain safety by self-announcing their positions and intentions, sometimes giving way to other aircraft. I first used this corridor during my PPL training, but later, during instrument rating training, I flew it many times. On one flight, our slower training aircraft was overtaken by a faster plane. We all communicated clearly with each other, and upon exiting the corridor, it’s customary to say “Have a great day” or “See you.” These simple communications go a long way toward keeping everyone safe.
It’s fantastic that such corridors exist for VFR pilots, and it’s even more exciting to experience the camaraderie and safety that comes from clear self-announcing procedures.
Getting Over It
On the way back, the instructor handed me the flight controls so I could take a look around. Below us, a brightly lit amusement park spread out like a tiny, magical world. Seeing it from the air was unexpectedly heartwarming. I realized I hadn’t flown so relaxed in quite a while. Somehow, up there above the city lights, I felt like I had finally let go of something that had been weighing me down.
The Next Day
The next day, I nailed my best soft-field landing yet. I also noticed that if my approach was too high or too low, I could adjust and correct it on the spot. It felt like I had finally climbed out of a slump, and I gained real confidence in making consistently good landings.
The Job of a CFI
Now I understand why Certified Flight Instructors (CFIs) do what they do. They know student pilots can get extremely stressed before a checkride, so they might schedule a night cross-country flight to help us relax. Watching a CFI at work up close during my training showed me just how much skill, perspective, and foresight their job requires. I can’t thank them enough.
Two Days Left
Amid the chaos, I took the Third Stage Check. The checker was the same instructor from my First Stage Check, which made me a little nervous—but surprisingly, it went smoothly. Only two days to go! (continued)
Only one week remained until my checkride, and I hadn’t even started flight training at Pepper Airport (a fictitious name), where the checkride was supposed to take place.
Then, suddenly, the checkride was canceled due to the examiner’s circumstances. In a hurry, we booked another examiner for the same day. And of course—the airport changed too! Now it would be at Salt Airport. A new airport? Seriously?! With just one week left…
Both Pepper Airport and Salt Airport are fictitious. I couldn’t think of any more spice-themed airport names. In the end, it was just salt and pepper! Sorry!
Finally, Flying at Salt Airport
The change of examiner and checkride airport reminds me of all the other changes during my flight training—training sites, flying schools, flight instructors, and so on. Now, the examiner and checkride airport have been switched again. Incredible evolution.
Finally, we took off from Salt Airport. Because it was the long-awaited day, my voice felt strong and confident. Since then, it has become steadier and more lively, a big improvement over my usual fragile tone.
Yesterday, I was reminded that I hadn’t paid enough attention to keeping the runway and taxiway centerline. So today, I was determined to maintain it at all times. While taxiing with that focus, the instructor praised my efforts as usual. CFIs probably understand each student’s growth style—whether through encouragement or other methods. Even I now realize, through experience, just how important it is to maintain the centerline at all times.
Centerline Focus
One day, I got so focused on keeping the centerline while taxiing that I almost missed the parking spot! It reminded me that pilots can’t focus on just one thing at a time. I need to keep chanting, “divide attention, divide attention!” LOL. But honestly, mistakes are the best teachers.
GPS… Not My Thing
I’m not really a technical person—home appliances already confuse me—so learning the GPS on board has been a challenge. My instructor taught it to me during run-up, which I hear is a rare treat for most students. While many pilots rely on GPS, I feel more at ease taking my time to figure it out—or even going without it altogether.
Practice Makes Perfect
Soft-field takeoffs don’t allow much braking, so turning accurately onto the runway is critical. I wasn’t great with the rudder pedals at first, but after repeated practice, my control improved dramatically. Truly, practice makes perfect—no matter who you are.
A Door Opens in Flight
During a westbound departure from Cilantro Airport to Salt Airport on a right downwind departure, my instructor casually said, “The door on your side opens.” I wasn’t expecting that—it definitely scared me! Calmly, he added, “I’ll reduce speed, and you close it.” Only he stayed that calm.
Even small things like a secured door and properly fastened seat matter for safety. They may seem trivial, but they’re critical.
Salt Airport
Flying a new route, I carefully scanned the ground, watched my altitude and airspace, and timed my descent while listening to and responding to the controller, entering Salt Airport on a left downwind. The first time I flew into Rosemary Airport on a long cross-country route (a detour due to my heatstroke), I wrote about how exciting it was to gain new knowledge and experience. Flying this route now brings back that same thrill.
Mentally Strong Enough?
Starting to fly at Salt Airport felt like starting over from scratch. Environmental changes turned me into a complete beginner. Landings were terrible—I couldn’t turn onto the base leg at the right point or maintain proper altitude. Yet, having gone through harder challenges before, I didn’t think I couldn’t handle this.
The one thing that frustrated me was that I couldn’t correct my mistakes after they were pointed out. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fly anymore, nor was I upset about anything in particular. I didn’t know why, but a flood of tears (and sniffles) came out during the post-briefing. Lesson learned: always bring a big box of tissues. LOL
It was a strange last week—busy, hectic, uneasy, yet simultaneously forward-moving and happy, all while crying every day after briefings. Practice at Salt Airport was essentially test prep, covering a ton of items that required serious preparation. The instructor was detailed and strict—probably trying to get me mentally ready for the checkride. Days flew by without a single rest day.
Amid all this, there was one day I actually talked back to the instructor during flight training. Maybe I was thinking, “Please don’t overwhelm me with so many corrections at once. I’m trying to solve these problems one by one at an unfamiliar airport. Let me keep my own pace.” (continued)
I tried to make a proper notebook for the oral portion of my upcoming checkride, but soon realized my current one was way too messy to be useful. Normally, I love creating neat, colorful, and well-organized notes. That’s my style. So of course I wanted to do it for this, too.
The problem? Time. Only two weeks left until the checkride, and I still need to review the flight portion. That left me no choice—I had to ditch the idea of a “tidy” notebook and switch to a quick-and-dirty version filled with keywords and short phrases. Not exactly satisfying, but at least practical.
Surprisingly, that little disappointment sparked a new motivation. Instead of obsessing over pretty notes, I started making translation notebooks (Japanese ↔ English) for the Oral Exam Guide, Jeppesen, and even the PHAK. In a way, it turned into something even more useful.
Guidebooks
When I was preparing for the oral portion of my checkride, one of my go-to resources was the Private Pilot Oral Exam Guide by ASA. It seems like almost every student pilot I know has used it at some point, and for good reason—I found it to be a really solid guidebook.
Alongside the Oral Exam Guide, I also spent time with the Pilot Information Manual (PIM) to better understand the airplane I was going to fly. The PIM is quite similar to the Pilot’s Operating Handbook (POH) or the Aircraft Flying Manual (AFM), except that it doesn’t include the specific weight-and-balance data or the exact equipment installed on the aircraft. In other words, it’s more of a “student-friendly” manual to study from.
Another huge help was connecting with peers. If you know someone who has already taken their checkride with the same examiner, don’t hesitate to ask for advice—they can share valuable insights. My flight school also offered very detailed support for the oral prep, which made a big difference. On top of that, I was lucky enough to have a fellow student pilot who had recently passed his checkride with the same examiner. He generously shared key tips with me, and one of my instructors even helped connect us. I’m still grateful for that.
Importance of Oral Portion
I’ve heard the oral exam can take anywhere from three to five hours, depending on the examiner and the situation. In some cases, it even ran so long that the flight portion had to be pushed to another day. Can you imagine?
That really shows how important the oral is. And here’s something that might surprise you—one of the eligibility requirements for a private pilot is the ability to read, speak, write, and understand English. So it’s not just about knowing regulations or systems; communication skills are truly part of what makes you a safe pilot.
That means the examiner will also be paying attention to your English during the test. If your language skills aren’t up to par, it could end up hurting you in the flight portion as well.
The ORAL EXAM GUIDE covers an impressively wide range of topics, which at first felt daunting—and, of course, everything was written in English. I was frustrated, especially since there wasn’t much time left.
But I quickly realized that worrying about what I couldn’t change wouldn’t help. All I could do was focus on what I could do. So began a busy period of preparing for the oral portion while reviewing the flight portion. Nobody could say for sure whether I would manage it—but there was only one thing I could do: keep moving forward.
Strangely enough, I felt a surge of excitement and joy. I was genuinely happy studying something I love, and I began to think that maybe I was born for this. Perhaps I’m a little bit of a weirdo…
I also set aside time to prepare for ice-breaker conversations. As anyone who has taken English exams in Japan may know, ice-breakers are often included in the evaluation—and first impressions are incredibly powerful. I practiced a variety of questions, ranging from simple ones like “Where do you live?” to more thoughtful ones such as “Why do you want to get a PPL?”
How My Past English Study Helped Me
Have you heard of Stage 2 of EIKEN Grade 1, the interview-style speaking test? Although it has changed a little over the years, when I took it, the format was like this: after a brief ice-break conversation, examinees choose one topic from five options on a Topic Card. You then have one minute to prepare a short speech, deliver it for about two minutes, and finally answer questions for four minutes.
One key to success is constructing your speech in a natural English style—not in the traditional Japanese narrative style, kishotenketsu. I learned this English-style way of organizing a speech at a language school in Japan called “Thesaurus House,” and it really helped me perform well in the oral portion.
And of course, I can’t forget about the airport where my checkride will take place. Only one week left… and I haven’t flown there yet! Time feels like it’s flying faster than I am. I need to get familiar with the traffic pattern, the runways, and all the little quirks of the airport before the big day. It’s going to be a busy week, but I’m determined to be ready. (continued)
If you’re working toward your FAA private pilot license, you’ll need to log some time in the dark skies. According to 14 CFR 61.109, the night-flight requirement is a total of 3 hours, and it has to include a few specific tasks: at least 10 takeoffs and landings in the traffic pattern, plus one cross-country flight of more than 100 nautical miles in total distance.
It may sound a little tricky, but the FAA actually uses three different definitions of “night.”
a) Lights: From sunset to sunrise. That’s when you’re required to turn your aircraft lights on.
b) Logbook: From the end of evening civil twilight to the beginning of morning civil twilight. This is the official “night” you record in your logbook. The times are published in the Air Almanac and converted to local time.
c) Currency: From one hour after sunset until one hour before sunrise. This applies when you need to stay current for carrying passengers at night.
If you compare them, definition (a) gives you the longest “night,” and (c) the shortest. To make it simple, I often say there are three definitions. But technically speaking, the true definition of “night” is (b); the other two are just for specific purposes.
By the way, if you’re wondering what exactly “civil twilight” means, the National Weather Service explains it nicely here:
Flying at night brings a whole new set of challenges. Spotting objects on the ground is not as easy as during the day, and in the traffic pattern, identifying the airport lighting correctly is essential—you don’t want to line up with the wrong set of lights. Even staying on the proper approach path can feel tricky in the dark.
On cross-country flights, landmarks are even harder to recognize. Lakes and the ocean appear completely black, so they can’t be used as reliable references. City lights or highways are usually much easier to pick out, but airports themselves are surprisingly difficult to spot. Often, they just blend into the darkness. The most dependable cue is the rotating beacon—it really stands out because it’s the only light that sweeps and flashes in that unique rhythm.
In ground school, I learned about the “False Horizon,” one of the classic night vision illusions described in the PHAK (Chapter 17: Aeromedical Factors). Experiencing these effects firsthand makes me realize just how important it is to respect the limitations of our eyes at night.
From my PHAK Translation Notebook
It can happen when the natural horizon is blocked or hard to see—like when you’re flying toward the shore of an ocean or a lake and your eyes get tricked by bright stars or city lights. Back in ground school, I honestly thought, “No way, that can’t really happen.” But once I started flying, I realized it’s very real.
Chapter 17 of the PHAK dives into other fascinating aspects of vision in flight—how the human eye works, the different types of vision (photopic, mesopic, scotopic), and the process of dark adaptation. The PHAK also covers other aeromedical topics every pilot should know about, including hypoxia, hyperventilation, ear and sinus issues, vestibular illusions, motion sickness, stress, fatigue, and more.
There are only two weeks left until my checkride, and it’s finally time to dive into studying for the oral portion. The problem is, my notebook looks like a disaster—pretty much a reflection of how cluttered my mind has been. I keep wondering if I can really sort everything out and commit it to memory in just two weeks. Honestly, I should have started earlier. Now it feels like I’m already behind. (continued)
。その間、風も強く飛行機が煽られる感じで、私は心折れそうになっていましたが、この日、この面倒くさいことを経験したことは、翌日の試験でそのまま役に立つことになります。
