覚えやすくするために「3種類ある」と書きましたが、実際は「正式な定義は二つ目であり、あとの二つは特定の用途のために用意されている」という感じだと思います。市民薄明の定義については、米国立気象局（NWS）のホームページDefinitions of Twilight (weather.gov)に記されています。
My first cross-country solo flight, as mentioned in the previous post, was a short round trip between Cilantro Airport and Watercress Airport.
Flying alone for about an hour felt strangely quiet without my instructor sitting next to me, so I tried speaking my intentions out loud. At one point, I even noticed a balloon drifting nearby. Luckily, it didn’t pose any danger to the aircraft—probably a toddler had let it go at a nearby theme park.
About 30 minutes after takeoff, just as I was about to begin my arrival procedures, the engine suddenly started making a strange noise. It sounded sluggish, as if it might quit at any moment. Interestingly, I had experienced the same sound at the exact same spot during a dual cross-country with my instructor, who told me it was caused by carburetor ice.
I did what I had been taught and applied carburetor heat, but the engine still sounded rough. Considering other possibilities, I adjusted the throttle and mixture, and finally, the engine returned to normal.
My knowledge and experience with aircraft systems are still very limited, but I can guess that engine roughness was likely a second symptom of carburetor ice. Still, there could have been other causes. Since it happened right after I leaned the mixture during the climb above 3,000 feet, my adjustment might have been off. It also could have been a magneto issue—or simply carb ice again. Without a clear memory of every detail of that flight, I haven’t been able to identify the exact cause.
Despite the unsettling moment, I landed safely at Watercress Airport and parked the aircraft. I wanted to let my instructor know I had arrived safely, but the Wi-Fi connection there wasn’t great. Thankfully, some local student pilots helped me out.
Long Cross-Country ~ Too Turbulent
My long solo cross-country flight was planned to start at Rosemary Airport, go via Oregano Airport, then on to Watercress Airport, and finally return to Rosemary. At Watercress Airport, I was supposed to refuel and take a short break.
While flying between Oregano Airport—known for its fresh air and beautiful scenery—and Watercress Airport, the wind picked up, and turbulence shook the small airplane. I was frightened, and that fear lingered with me until just a few days before my checkride.
When I tried to refuel at Watercress, the hose was tangled and far too heavy for me to handle. A Japanese passerby kindly helped me, and later I found out he was actually a strict flight instructor at the local school. I was so grateful for his help.
Only 2 Weeks Left
I managed to complete two solo cross-country flights, and there were only two weeks left until my checkride. There was still so much to do—night traffic patterns, a night cross-country, oral exam prep, practice at the checkride airport, and mock checkrides.
Can I really be fully prepared by the big day? That question was always in the back of my mind. But at the same time, I knew I had no choice but to keep moving forward. These two feelings were almost evenly balanced, though the determination to press on was just a little stronger. (continued)
One of the requirements for the Private Pilot License (PPL) is a total of three hours of “hood time.” This means wearing a visor or special goggles that block your outside view, so you must fly the airplane solely by reference to the instruments—just as you would if you accidentally flew into the clouds.
For example, the instructor might say, “1,500 feet, heading 270,” and you follow the vector using only the instruments. For me, it wasn’t easy to keep instructions in short-term memory—I could only remember one thing at a time. Too bad…
This practice was often assigned during the arrival phase. When the instructor finally told me to take off the hood near the runway, all I had to do was line up with it. It amazed me how patiently he vectored and guided me, even though I was such a slow learner.
Before starting flight training, I thought this kind of practice—flying with the outside view blocked—was reckless and impossible. But in fact, I enjoyed it. Relying only on the instruments actually made me calm, and it stopped me from making unnecessary control inputs. Maybe that’s the reason, or maybe not, but to my surprise, it wasn’t scary at all. (Everyone says “unexpectedly,” but that’s exactly how it felt!)
Unusual Attitude Recovery
Unusual Attitude Recovery is one of the maneuvers tested on the PPL checkride. During training, your instructor (or later, the examiner) puts you under the hood or another view-limiting device and asks you to close your eyes and lower your head. While you’re not looking, they’ll place the airplane into an unusual attitude—climbing, descending, or steeply banked. When they say “Recover,” your job is to quickly recognize the airplane’s attitude and correct it. This is what we call “Recovery from an Unusual Attitude.”
Nose too high and banked right attitude.
Based on my own flight training, I think it’s safe to say that I’m the type who easily panics, mixing up right and left or even up and down—LOL. Because of that, my instructor was thoughtful enough to time this lesson carefully: not too early (so I wouldn’t get discouraged) and not too late (so I wouldn’t fall behind). Today was my very first attempt at it—and surprisingly, it went much better than I expected. (Yes, everyone agrees!)
Tomorrow: First Solo Cross-Country Flight
Around this time, my instructor commented that my flights were becoming more accurate overall, though still a little unsatisfactory. I agreed, and realized I needed to start studying for the oral exam, get familiar with the unfamiliar airport where my checkride will take place, and so on. But as I felt my understanding and skills improving, I decided to keep my focus on moving forward.
As planned, I flew solo traffic patterns for two consecutive days. Strangely enough, those were the only times—other than some relaxed flights in Sedona—when I wasn’t corrected on my mistakes. It felt a little surreal.
And tomorrow, I’ll be flying my first solo cross-country. Hopefully, nothing unexpected will happen. But you know how it goes—something always comes up… (to be continued)
The Second Stage Check
Right now, my goal is to complete two types of solo cross-country flights. One is a short round trip that takes a little less than an hour each way, called a short cross-country. The other is a longer one that covers three different destination airports over a greater distance, known as a long cross-country.
To move forward, I first had to pass the Second Stage Check. This test includes a cruise flight using a VOR facility—something I’ve never been very confident with—along with several other maneuvers such as takeoffs and landings.
My first stage check for a solo traffic pattern flight was a miserable experience—I was incredibly nervous. Since then, however, I’ve accumulated countless flight experiences, laughing and crying along the way, and gradually removed the unnecessary “negative veil” to better understand who I am. This has made me a bit more mentally resilient. Best of all, the second stage check didn’t include any aerobatics, which was a relief. Unlike the first time, I passed the stage check with ease.
Planning for Emergency Situations
On the day I passed the Second Stage Check, my first solo short cross-country flight was scheduled for three days later. This flight wasn’t too hectic since it was a simple round trip over a short distance. Everything would be fine with a careful check of the morning weather data, a detailed NAV LOG prepared in advance, and a final review just before departure.
From My PHAK Translation Notebook
Since the airplanes used for Private Pilot License (PPL) training are usually single-engine aircraft, an engine failure would most likely require a forced landing. That’s why, during ground school and flight training, we often discuss how to plan for and handle emergency situations.
For example, if an engine failure occurs just after takeoff, what is the benchmark altitude above which we can safely turn back to the departure runway? Below that altitude, a forced landing off the airport would be necessary. I also planned potential emergency sites along the cruising route for the upcoming cross-country flight. Airports are, of course, the best options, but there were stretches along the route where no airport was available within the maximum glide distance. For those portions, I tried to identify suitable flat areas as emergency landing sites.
One day, while flying the traffic pattern, the instructor suddenly pulled the power to idle as we passed abeam on the downwind leg. He said, “Engine failure—what would you do?” It was so sudden that I was momentarily at a loss, but I had no choice but to handle it.
As he asked whether I could make it to the runway, he guided me on how to manage the situation. It was my first experience turning from downwind to base with the engine at idle. It felt as if I weighed nothing, and the aircraft was gliding gently, like a butterfly landing.
Then my instructor said, “I want you to survive whatever happens,” which left a lasting impression on me. I realized that, when flying alone, I will have to handle everything myself to survive whatever comes my way. Instructors work tirelessly to give us the guidance we need so that we can fly safely on our own.
Another impressive instruction happened during a takeoff run. The instructor abruptly reduced power to idle, saying, “Engine failure, what would you do?” In this case, I learned about the emergency procedures in the ground school, and I tried to do as instructed. It was so exciting that I realized what I learned while flying because my mind and action are properly connected, which is, in other words, “I am doing what I think is right.”
Checkride is Coming Soon!
The checkride has been scheduled three weeks from now at an airport about 30 miles from our base. Flight training has been adjusted slightly to prepare for the examiner’s unique questions and scenarios. As always, the instructor requests specific types of takeoffs or landings right before performing them. There have also been detailed instructions for maintaining precise altitudes when entering the traffic pattern, as well as reviews of VOR navigation to ensure a smooth and satisfactory flight with the checkride in mind.
The checkride includes an oral portion in addition to the flight portion. My fellow student pilots, who are expected to take their checkrides around the same time, have already begun studying for the oral exam. One of them even demonstrated what he was studying on the whiteboard at the school. I tried not to get distracted, keeping my own pace, since I personally find the flight portion more challenging than the oral portion. So, I decided to start studying for the oral exam a few days later, focusing first on flight practice. Whether that’s for better or worse… no one knows. (continued)
セカンド・ステージチェックに合格した日、単独飛行で初の野外飛行（Solo Short Cross-Country Flight）に出る日が3日後に決まりました。これは距離の短い1往復のルートなので、当日の朝のお天気チェックとNAV LOGをきちんと作り、最終的な復習をすれば恐らく大丈夫だろうと思えました。
2.6 (6) New Long Cross-Country on New Course ～2/2 “Elevation Disappeared”
What’s the Field Elevation?
I looked carefully at the numbers on the chart and noticed that the first “1” in 1,350 feet had faded and almost disappeared. Because the cockpit is so cramped, pilots usually fold the chart to make only the needed sections visible. Ironically, I had been folding mine right over the elevation number, again and again.
So, does that mean the field elevation of Oregano Airport is actually 1,350 feet, and the TPA is 2,350 feet? What I had been doing was trying to approach at an altitude almost 1,000 feet too low. Oops... I Did It Again. Looking back, the Chart Supplement clearly stated 1,350 feet. Obvious, right? Hahaha.
“Well, what I really need to do is descend to 1,850 feet,” I told myself. But the ground looked a bit closer than usual…
Then, out of nowhere, my instructor glanced at the aeronautical chart and asked: Instructor: What is the TPA at Oregano Airport? Me: 1,350 feet. Instructor: Are you sure? Me: Yes, I think so.
Suddenly, he added power, took control, and started climbing. Instructor: What is the airport elevation?
I double-checked the chart and replied, “350 feet.” Instructor: Didn’t you notice the number had peeled off after you folded the chart so many times?
I was looking closely at the numbers on the chart when I noticed something odd—the “1” in 1,350 feet had faded and looked almost white, as if it had disappeared. Since the cockpit is so small, pilots usually fold the chart to keep only the necessary parts visible at the moment. Ironically, I had folded it right over the elevation number again and again, until it nearly vanished.
So, does that mean the field elevation at Oregano Airport is 1,350 feet, with a TPA of 2,350 feet? What I actually did was try to approach at an altitude a full 1,000 feet too low. Oops!... I Did It Again.
Looking back, of course the Chart Supplement clearly listed the correct elevation—1,350 feet. It was right there all along. Obvious, really. Hahaha.
This photo isn’t from my own case, but in this example, the actual number for the elevation just vanished like this. Ridiculous…
After that, I carefully folded the chart so I wouldn’t mess it up again. Still feeling a bit down, I worried about my awful self-announcement compared with the fluent ones of other pilots, flying a higher-than-normal approach path, and overshooting the base-to-final turn. It ended with a miserable landing.
Flying the Traffic Pattern at Oregano Airport
Right after landing, we jumped straight into touch-and-go practice—without a single break.
“Ugh… no break?” I groaned. Already frustrated with my poor approach caused by the worn-out chart, I even turned right when I should have turned left.
Instructor: “Why are you turning right at a corner we just turned left? Your downwind is too tight. You’re overshooting again.”
Mistakes were pointed out one after another, but somehow, I managed to make it through.
At last, I was instructed to exit the runway and taxi to transient parking. The moment the taxiway opened up before me, the view took my breath away—clear skies, crisp air, and mountains beautifully surrounding the airport. Gazing at that scenery, I completely forgot about the miserable landing earlier. Maybe I’m just simple-minded after all.
Oregano Airport is surrounded by beautiful mountains and filled with fresh, haze-free air.
After flying the traffic pattern once, my instructor got out of the plane and said, “Okay, I’ll step out. You’ll fly solo the same way.”
At that moment, I actually felt confident that I could handle a solo in the pattern. So I shouted, “Woo-hoo! Now I don’t have to get yelled at! (Well… not yelled at, but instructed.) Up until then, I hadn’t been very good at making radio calls at a non-towered airport. But I had practiced hard for this day, so I made up my mind to get it right—and took off on my own.
Leaving Oregano Airport for Watercress Airport
Right after completing my first traffic pattern solo, my instructor rejoined me so we could head out to Watercress Airport. The skies around the airport were busy with traffic, and radio calls were nonstop. I had to let others know where I was, figure out my position using ground references and the chart, and manage my energy all at once. I was so busy that I overshot the base-to-final turn—again. What a hectic landing!
It felt like trying to soothe a crying child while flipping overcooked eggs and lifting the lid off a boiling pot of soup—all at the same time.
After refueling, I finally caught my breath at Watercress Airport. We made it safely back to Cilantro Airport without suffering heatstroke. It was a long day, but surprisingly less exhausting than the previous long cross-country. I was truly grateful to my instructor for coming up with this new route.
Next up: my first solo traffic pattern at my home airport, followed by the Second Stage Check to see if I’m ready for a solo cross-country. My First Stage Check was, as you know, a total disaster—so yes, I was a little nervous. What will happen this time? (To be continued…)
教官から「オレガノ空港のTPAは幾つなんですか？」と聞かれたので、「1,350フィートです」と答える私に、再度「本当に1,350フィートですか？」と聞かれました。「はい、そうです」と答えると、「I Have Control」と言われて操縦桿を取られてしまいました。そして教官はパワーを入れて高度を上げ始めました。
On the new route, Rosemary Airport (a fictitious name), located near our base airport, was designated as the departure point. The first thing I had to do was practice the traffic pattern at Rosemary Airport. Unlike our base airport, which is almost always subject to strong crosswinds, Rosemary Airport usually experiences headwinds, even when it’s very windy at 10 knots or more. This made landing much easier. It felt like… I had landed before I even realized it. My instructor laughed at my puzzled expression. I was amazed at how easy landing could be without crosswinds.
However, there was no time to be puzzled. The instructor kept asking me to perform specific takeoffs and landings that I had learned before—such as soft-field takeoffs and landings, and short-field takeoffs and landings—right then and there.
Finding My Strengths at Each Airport
When I made initial contact with the controller at Rosemary Airport for the first time, their phraseology was a little different from what I was used to at the more familiar Cilantro Airport. On one hand, I was in a hurry. On the other hand, I reminded myself not to be impatient, which I think reflects my recent growth. Once I got used to these new phraseologies, I felt confident I would be fine. I was excited to discover and pull out different strengths one after another, and I enjoyed accumulating more airports where I could practice landings.
Then, as usual, I landed at Cilantro Airport in crosswinds. But after landing at a no-crosswind airport, I felt a sense of ease, which led to a successful landing.
Instructor: "You look confident enough to be able to land, don’t you?"
I could proudly say, “Yes!” It reminded me of the days of airworks and initial landing practice. I’ve really grown.
Ended Up Buying Another Chart
In my previous post “2.2 (10) Enroute Flight | 自家用操縦士訓練物語～超怖がりな私が空を飛んだ日（My PPL Training Days） (ameblo.jp), I mentioned the “Chart Incident,” when I bought a new aeronautical chart even though the old one was still valid. This happened during a dual cross-country flight on a new route, which I had planned after experiencing heatstroke on my original long cross-country flight.
The personal event had already started on the morning of the cross-country flight. While preparing the NAV LOG, I noticed something unusual about the airport elevation information. We need this information to calculate the Traffic Pattern Altitude (TPA) for each airport’s arrival. For small aircraft in initial flight training, the TPA is generally the airport elevation plus 1,000 feet.
Airport elevation is listed in the Aeronautical Chart and Chart Supplement. For some airports, the TPA is also provided in the Chart Supplement. On the chart, Oregano Airport’s elevation was listed as 350 feet, while the Chart Supplement stated 1,350 feet. I thought there couldn’t be a typo in such important information. Anyway, I planned to ask the instructor when I arrived.
This mindset might make me seem absent-minded. When I arrived at the flight school, the instructor looked so busy that I couldn’t approach him. I decided to save my question for just before engine start.
Departure
But once I started the engine, I completely forgot my question. We departed Cilantro Airport for Rosemary Airport, and then headed to Oregano Airport. On the first leg, the instructor pointed out so many errors that I was overwhelmed, especially with additional tasks like locating ground landmarks on the chart and setting and verifying the VOR. The instructions coming from him felt like baseballs flying at me one after another from a batting cage.
Carburetor Ice
On top of that, the aircraft started to vibrate and make strange noises. The instructor said, “Look, the engine RPM is dropping. Remember this vibration and sound—this is carburetor ice.” Something I had only studied for the written exam was happening in real life. It was an incredible learning experience. If I remember correctly, carburetor ice can form even when the temperature is above freezing. Considering that the day was 23˚C, this made sense.
In fact, carburetor ice is dangerous. The instructor repeatedly reminded me, “Don’t forget to turn on the carburetor heat. Otherwise, the engine may stop.”
From FAA PHAK Chapter 7, Figure 7-11
The first sign of carburetor ice is a loss of RPM, as mentioned in the TEST PREP. If any corrective action is not taken, engine vibration or unusual sounds can occur, which may even lead to engine failure. This is not something we can ignore.
On that day, it wasn’t too frightening because it was a dual flight with my instructor, and the carb ice disappeared when we applied carb heat. However, I’ll have to tell you the sequel to this story later…
As we approached Oregano Airport, I began our descent. I remembered a question from that morning, but I had been too busy to ask him: What would you do, Fly2gether? (continued)
