気化器着氷（Carburetor Ice）が起きた場合の最初の兆候は、エンジン回転数が下がること（Loss of RPM）です。これ筆記試験の問題集にもありました。そのままにしておくとエンジンに変な振動や音がして、エンジンの不調（Engine Roughness）を起こし、更に何もせずに放っておくとエンジンが止まります。なので、これは本当に注意しないといけません。
Odd conversation between me and my instructor on board: Instructor: Which runway are you planning to land on at Basil Airport? Me: The wind is blowing from 150 degrees, so I’ll land on Runway 35. Instructor: ??? Me: ??? Instructor: When the wind is coming from 150 degrees, do you use Runway 35? Me: ... (Is something wrong with that?) Oh, Runway 17.
Since Basil Airport is a non-towered airport, a pilot has to self-announce their position, altitude, and intended runway when about 10 miles out. I mistakenly said “Northeast” instead of the correct “Northwest.” I wonder if this was due to heatstroke—or just my usual state.
If a student pilot doesn’t feel well, which could affect safety, they need to inform the instructor. But I’m usually a “10% performance” kind of person, so I didn’t realize whether this symptom was caused by the heat or just by who I am.
Traffic Pattern at Basil Airport
Basil Airport was a beautiful place, with crisp, clear air—so different from the hazy atmosphere of Cilantro Airport. Right after arriving, I taxied back to the runway to begin traffic pattern practice, my mind racing with thoughts about the day’s crazy schedule, which felt like an overnight camp for a high school sports club.
At that moment, I was really thirsty and found it hard to focus on the instructions. Exhausted, I took off and landed reluctantly, and I even missed the other traffic’s self-announcement.
It was incredible to think that all the student pilots before me had completed such long cross-country practices. The instructor flew safely and guided me throughout, all without a sip of water. He was as remarkable as the scorching 44℃ temperature.
After several attempts at landing, I was finally approaching successfully, but the aircraft suddenly sank just before touchdown. The instructor asked me, “Do you have any particular reason for setting the flaps to 20 degrees?” I had no idea, since I had intended to extend the flaps to 30 degrees, as usual. At this point, the instructor decided we should take a break.
The aircraft also seemed to be unwell—one side of the rudder pedals wasn’t responding properly. After refueling, we taxied to the FBO to rest for a while. While taxiing, I noticed a stylish FBO building and felt excited to visit it, but my excitement quickly faded when the instructor said, “This one charges a fee, so let’s go to the building over there.” The FBO where we actually rested was modest, yet very welcoming.
I may not look like much, but the staff were kind and offered beverages and snacks for free. Thank you!
Oil Temperature Soaring, Brain Melting
Finally, the last leg of the day: from Basil Airport back to Cilantro Airport. This would take about two hours, maybe less.
While taxiing to the runway, the instructor told me to follow the King Air—a twin-engine airplane manufactured by Beech Aircraft—just ahead of us. I saw the aircraft shimmering in the heat haze. It looked like a postcard, bathed in mystical golden and orange light. Was I in danger? On top of that, since I didn’t know the King Air, I momentarily thought it was the name of an airline company chasing a large jetliner. LOL.
Finally, as we entered the runway for takeoff, I momentarily lost my sense of orientation and perspective, and the instructor promptly took control of the flight.
Soon after takeoff, the oil temperature gauge climbed near the red zone. We slightly lowered the nose while keeping a level flight attitude, gaining altitude with the help of an updraft. At a certain altitude, the problem disappeared. Relief at last!
Other mistakes I made included forgetting to close the window, setting the wrong frequency, and making an incorrect self-announcement. Based on these, the instructor decided to take flight controls. Since I was expected to follow the same course, I was trying to keep it in mind by looking outside. Once I felt better, I took control again and flew back home.
Since I got heatstroke during my cross-country flight, the flying school considered my solo flight on the original course a serious issue. My instructor then designed a new course for my solo cross-country flight that still met all the regulatory requirements. As a result, it was decided that I would fly the cross-country route again, this time following the new course.
Red Line: Original planned course Blue Line: New course
I was partly disappointed, thinking I would have to fly a dual cross-country once again. At the same time, I was glad that the instructor had taken the time to create a new course for me. Either way, I went ahead with it, and it actually turned out to have some good aspects. The new airport included in the course was wind-calm, which gave me great confidence and inspiration for my landings. Interestingly, several years later, I often flew to this airport during my instrument rating training.
Cross-country flights and their eventful journeys will continue. (To be continued)
離陸のために滑走路に入ろうとした時、一瞬、方向と景色がわからなくなり、教官が私の異変に気付き「I have control.」と言ってその場の操縦を担当してくれました。
また、上昇してすぐに飛行機の油温計（Oil Temperature Gauge）が赤線近くまで上がったので、上昇率を抑えてほとんど高度維持の姿勢のまま上昇流で高度を稼いだ状況でした。ある程度の高度まで上がると、油温計も落ち着いてきました。やはり、高度1,000フィートごとに大気温度は2度ずつ下がってくれていたのでしょう。
“Aviate, Navigate, Communicate” is a phrase I heard many times from instructors during my flight training, and it appears on the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) website as well as in aviation books. “Aviate” always takes precedence over everything else, followed by “Navigate” and then “Communicate.” In other words, “Aviate” can also be expressed as “Fly First” or “Fly the Airplane.”
Although this may not be a precise definition, my understanding of these terms is as follows:
Aviate: To fly the airplane using the flight controls and instruments, managing the aircraft’s attitude, airspeed, and altitude. It is often described as keeping your aircraft under control. Regardless of the situation, this must always be your top priority.
Navigate: To determine where you are and where you are going. This involves paying attention to terrain elevation, airspaces, minimum safe altitudes, ground obstacles, cloud base, and other factors affecting flight.
Communicate: To talk with Air Traffic Control (ATC) or others outside the cockpit. Personally, I also consider it to include communication with anyone flying with you, such as instructors, examiners, or passengers.
Wrong Action of Neglecting “Aviate”
When I first started learning the go-around, I attempted one after an unsuccessful landing, and the ATC controller called me at that moment. In the middle of procedures I wasn’t yet familiar with, I tried to squeeze communication into my go-around sequence, which made my flight control unstable. It was then that my instructor reminded me of the phrase, “Aviate, Navigate, Communicate.” Looking back, I now see how right and reasonable it is—but at the time, I was surprised that communication could sometimes come last, depending on the situation. When flying, we must always prioritize, letting go of what is less important in order to maintain control.
Long Cross-Country Flight
During cross-country flights, you learn a new task: navigation. Today, I will fly my second cross-country flight. The first one was a short round trip, taking just under an hour each way. This time, I will fly a triangular route, stopping at two airports and practicing traffic patterns at both. The course, already established by the flight school, meets the cross-country requirements of the aeronautical regulations.
It was an extremely hot day:
Cilantro Airport: 21˚C
Watercress Airport: 33˚C
Basil Airport: 44˚C… I’ve never experienced anything like that! Just a few days earlier, the President visited this area to play golf. Impossible!
My Terrible “Navigate”
On the first leg from Cilantro Airport to Watercress Airport, I managed to land using the proper entry procedure, but I failed to navigate successfully. This was because I didn’t pay enough attention to maintaining the planned course.
That day, the weather was hazy, with only 5 statute miles of visibility. I couldn’t clearly identify ground landmarks, which distracted me greatly. I was also focused on checking and recording the time at every checkpoint, and as a result, I failed to keep an overall view of the flight—such as maintaining the planned course or monitoring the VOR. Furthermore, I was talking to myself about what I needed to check or consider while flying, without thinking ahead. From that experience, I decided that going forward, I would declare my intentions or communicate them with the instructor during the flight.
Downsloping Runway
The correct entry to Watercress Airport requires crossing midfield on the upwind leg and then turning left to enter at a 45° angle to the downwind leg at midfield. I managed this successfully after reviewing a similar entry from a previous flight. However, the final moments of the landing felt a little off. I didn’t understand why until the instructor pointed out that I had failed to descend properly on the base leg.
The runway at Watercress Airport slopes downward, which can create visual illusions. This was why I couldn’t approach at the proper altitude. Runways aren’t always perfectly level; they can slope up, down, or both. I need to remember how to visually interpret these situations. The PHAK discusses illusions caused by sloping runways in Chapter 17.
Traffic Pattern Practice at Watercress Airport
We arrived at Watercress Airport after about an hour, where the temperature was 33˚C, and soon started practicing takeoffs and landings in the traffic pattern. The aircraft wasn’t climbing at its usual rate because of the heat. Although I had learned in ground school that temperature affects aircraft performance, experiencing it firsthand was surprising—it was a first for me.
While flying the traffic pattern, I suddenly felt like I didn’t want to fly anymore, for no apparent reason. I had never felt discouraged before. Later, I realized this was a sign of heatstroke. My brain wasn’t functioning properly to respond to the instructor, and I felt reluctant to speak. Then we took a break. To be honest, I felt relieved, but at the same time, I didn’t want to continue flying.
Like Hot Air from Hair Dryer Blowing Into
The second leg was from Watercress Airport, where it was 33˚C, to Basil Airport, where it was 44˚C with a dew point of 3˚C. I had never seen such a huge temperature spread before. The atmospheric temperature is supposed to decrease by about 2 degrees per 1,000 feet of altitude. At 6,000 feet, it should have been around 32˚C.
On top of that, a small training airplane has no air conditioning. We were in the middle of a scorching chamber, with direct sunlight pouring in. Even when we opened the cabin air, all that blew in was “hot air from a hair dryer.”
But I was determined to memorize the cockpit view, the location of the run-up area, and the parking spots. Could I complete today’s cross-country flight? (continued)
この言葉は、訓練中、教官からも何度も言われましたし、米連邦航空局（FAA）のHPや航空書籍などでもよく目にするフレーズです。空を飛ぶ上で重要なことを順番に並べた言葉なので、「Aviate」が何よりも優先されます。なので、同じ意味を表すフレーズとして「Fly First」とか「Fly The Airplane」というフレーズもあります。
その日は、視程が「5 SM Haze（HZ）」（煙霧で見通しがあまり良くない状態）で地上の物標がよく見えず、それに気持ちが奪われ、NAV LOGに時間を記入していくことに必死で、航路の維持、機体やVORの監視がおろそかになっていました。更に、ひとり言を言いながらぐちゃぐちゃ飛んでいた感じでしたので、今後はもっと自分の意図（Intention）を宣言又は（教官に）伝えて行動していこうと決めました。
Other Types of Takeoffs and Landings
After completing my first cross-country flight the other day, I moved on to learning about different types of takeoffs and landings, including those used on short runways or grass and dirt surfaces: Short-Field Takeoff, Short-Field Landing, Soft-Field Takeoff, and Soft-Field Landing.
These procedures differ slightly from standard takeoffs and landings. I believe learning them has significantly improved my overall skills for normal takeoffs and landings for several reasons.
a short-field takeoff requires a slightly higher nose attitude compared to the normal takeoff, which uses the “VY Pitch.” This higher attitude is called the “VX Pitch.” Adopting this different pitch made me pay more attention to the aircraft’s climbing attitude, which in turn led to safer and smoother takeoffs.
Soft-Field Takeoff
In a soft-field takeoff, you need to keep the aircraft moving even during taxi, so I had to plan my power management and taxi path in advance to stay aligned with the runway centerline. Even after liftoff, you lower the nose slightly to gain airspeed until reaching VY speed, all while maintaining the centerline. These steps made me more conscious of keeping the aircraft on the proper path.
Short-Field Landing
Practicing short-field landings helped me develop the habit of closely monitoring the airspeed indicator during landing. In a short-field landing, you maintain a slightly slower airspeed than in a normal landing, which naturally draws your attention to the indicator. Slower airspeed also means flying closer to stall speed, so I became more cautious about controlling it.
They say that during the final approach, you judge your path mostly by looking outside, only glancing at the airspeed indicator. I believe this is because precise airspeed control is critical in landing. Before learning short-field landings, I didn’t fully appreciate the importance of airspeed—not because I ignored it, but because I had too many other things to focus on. Practicing this type of landing helped me develop the habit of glancing at the airspeed indicator on the final leg, leading to safer and more stable landings afterward.
Soft-Field Landing
Soft-field landings taught me to look further down the runway. In normal landings, power is smoothly reduced to idle. In soft-field landings, a small amount of power is added just before touchdown to keep the descent shallower and prevent the wheels from digging in. As a result, I developed the habit of looking far ahead along the runway.
Through these landing practices, I started receiving more compliments from instructors. One even joked, “This is no beginner’s skill anymore.” I could actually feel the aircraft’s attitude in detail and calmly recall what happened during each maneuver.
Epilogue of Graceful Landscape
Triggered by learning various types of landings, I found myself thinking about landing more than ever. One night, I had an unforgettable dream. I was flying like a bird, slipping out of my bedroom and soaring toward the runway where I usually practiced. Another bird-like figure flew nearby, teaching me the nuances of flying—when to begin the roundout, how to control the flare, and how to touch down smoothly on the runway.
I woke up with the dream vividly in my mind. “Oh no, I must have been overthinking landing… or maybe the landscape far beyond,” I thought. Yet, that very day, I successfully landed exactly as shown in the dream.
Two months had passed since the DC-9 cargo captain gave me advice about looking far beyond the runway. During that time, I thought about landing every single day and gradually learned the ropes. That was the epilogue of the graceful landscape. This time, it wasn’t a fluke—it was the result of acquired skills. My control became unstable just a week before the checkride, but it was fully restored three days prior. Perhaps this was thanks to the cargo captain’s advice, the guidance of the bird in my dream, and, of course, my instructors.
By learning about different types of takeoffs and landings, I found that no matter which one I was asked to do, I could handle it calmly and confidently.
Next, I will be flying another dual cross-country flight, this time over a longer distance with three-point landings. Something unexpected is bound to happen during a long cross-country flight on an extremely hot day. (continued)
So far, I’ve learned basic maneuvers, airwork, and takeoffs and landings in the traffic pattern, and I safely completed my first and second solo flights a few days ago. All of these can be considered as parts of a single complete flight.
The next stage of practice will be cross-country flights, which essentially combine these parts with other elements to create a complete flight known as a cross-country flight.
One of my instructors told me, “You’re going to get busier from now on, learning new things one after another, and it will get even more intense a few weeks before the exam when you also have to prepare for the oral test.” In fact, he was right—I quickly became very busy, learning Short-Field Takeoffs and Landings, Soft-Field Takeoffs and Landings, Emergency Procedures, Diversion Procedures, and Unusual Attitude Recovery, in addition to cross-country flights.
Definition of Cross-Country Flight
The FAA defines a cross-country flight differently depending on the certificate being sought and the type of operation conducted. For the private pilot certificate in airplanes, it is defined under 14 CFR 61.1(b)(3)(ii)(B) as a flight that: is conducted in an appropriate aircraft; includes a landing point at least 50 nautical miles in a straight line from the original point of departure; and involves the use of dead reckoning, pilotage, electronic navigation aids, radio aids, or other navigation systems to reach the landing point.
First Cross-Country Flight
My first cross-country flight was a dual flight to a destination about 50 NM away and back. During the first leg, I felt exhilarated, flying somewhere I had never been before, enjoying the stunning views and perfect weather, while following the instructor’s directions. Although the cockpit view was only from about 5,000 to 6,000 feet, it was fascinating to watch the landscape change beneath me. However, as we approached the destination, I realized that simply enjoying the scenery is something you can do as a passenger—but being a pilot is a different experience entirely.
I also realized how physically exhausting it can be. There are so many responsibilities: managing not just a single task, but the entire flight, always thinking ahead, and taking appropriate action.
Before flying, you must carefully prepare by checking weather reports and forecasts, determining your course, and plotting it on the aeronautical chart. You also need to ensure proper altitudes to avoid entering controlled airspaces (Class B, C, and D) and to maintain terrain clearance.
If you want, I can also make a slightly more casual, “storytelling” version that reads more like a personal flight blog rather than a technical report. This can make it more engaging for readers who aren’t pilots. Do you want me to do that?
Plotting the planned course on the chart
Next, we prepare the NAV LOG—a detailed flight plan that includes headings, altitudes, fuel, time, and other information—based on the plotting on the chart.
NAV LOG
These two preparations take time to get used to. But even more than that, using them during flight can be hectic. The NAV LOG includes the Estimated Time Enroute (ETE), which you use to calculate the estimated time of arrival (ETA) at the next checkpoint after noting your takeoff time. Other tasks include checking the next heading and altitude, aligning the heading indicator with the magnetic compass, and verifying that the engine instruments are operating properly every 15 minutes. Of course, you also need to monitor your flight along the planned route by checking ground references or geographical landmarks, as well as setting and monitoring the VOR—tasks that are repeated at every checkpoint.
Before arrival, you’ll monitor the ATIS of your intended destination airport and contact the controller at towered airports—or self-announce at non-towered airports—while considering when to begin your descent. You should also learn in advance how to enter the traffic pattern. With so many tasks, there are rarely quiet moments.
On the return trip, you should depart as planned, maintaining altitudes to avoid unintentionally entering nearby controlled airspaces (Class B, C, and D). As on the inbound flight, tasks at each checkpoint are repeated until you return to the departing airport.
During cross-country flights, as new tasks are added as described above, a wide variety of “events” can occur. (continued)
Finally, I had a heart-pounding Saturday. At eight in the morning, I checked the ATIS: Wind calm, visibility 10 SM, few clouds at 2,400 feet, overcast at 3,000, temperature 17, dew point 13, altimeter 29.93.
It was an ideal day for my first solo flight. The wind was expected to remain calm, visibility was excellent at 10 statute miles, and the traffic pattern ceiling was 1,000 feet—perfect conditions.
Three Circuits with the Instructor
As usual, I first flew three circuits of the traffic pattern with my instructor. On the first circuit, my recorded voice reveals that I was nervous, but I wasn’t discouraged by fear. On the final leg, my pitch attitude was unstable—the nose of the aircraft moved up and down—and my wind correction was a little late, but I managed to land safely.
During the second circuit, I flew more smoothly and kept a closer watch on the controls. I was almost perfect, except for the last moment of the flare. I momentarily flared abruptly because I was distracted by a deviation from the centerline. On the positive side, the touchdown was good, and I lowered the nose gear slowly after the main gear touched down. Well done!
By the third circuit, everything felt much easier. Having dealt with strong crosswinds the day before, I found landing in calm conditions much more manageable.
The instructor then instructed me to make a full stop at the ramp area. We double-checked that I had all the necessary documents. He reminded me to make a full stop and taxi back to the runway after each landing. Although I was expected to fly three circuits, I was never forced to push myself and was encouraged to go around if a landing didn’t feel right.
I could tell he was a little nervous. I know that for every CFI, sending their student pilot out on a solo flight is truly a daunting task—even when the decision is based on careful and objective evaluation. I promised myself: “Never take a reckless risk, and always come home safe.”
Here I Go!
He left me on the plane with the engine running. He would be watching my flight nearby with a handheld radio, ready to listen to ATC communications whenever safety required.
At last, I’m taxiing to the runway for my solo flight. After monitoring ATIS one more time, I contact Delivery and Ground Control to get clearance to taxi as usual. I got a bit nervous when the Ground controller instructed me to hold at taxiway Bravo. But I relaxed as the previous traffic passed, and after checking out taxiway Bravo, the controller told me to disregard the hold. Please… don’t make me nervous!
In Fact, I Was
Holding short of the hold line, I tuned into Tower Control for takeoff clearance. I wasn’t nervous—or so I thought. I felt calm.
Normally, when contacting ATC, you follow a specific order: first the ATC station name, then your callsign, your position, your intentions, and any other relevant information. For a solo flight, you might add “Student Pilot” at
the end. Today, I was flying solo in the traffic pattern, so my intention would be “Left Closed Traffic.”
As shown in the figure below, the flight route would follow the order ④ → ⑤ → ② → ③. There’s a similar phrase for intentions: “Left Standard Departure,” which involves exiting the upwind leg at a 45-degree angle, as illustrated at ⑥. I used a Left Standard Departure when I flew out to the ocean area for airwork. Remember this phraseology, as it will appear again later.
From my PHAK Translation Notebook
Takeoff
Getting takeoff clearance, I applied full power—airspeed alive, engine instruments all green—and I was airborne! So far, so good. Climbing and reaching 700 ft, I turned left onto the crosswind, leveled off at 1,000 ft, and then turned left again onto the downwind. Suddenly, the tower controller called:
Tower: You said Left Standard Departure, but now you’re on the downwind. Say your intention. Me: (??? I’m sure I said Left Closed Traffic…) Request Left Closed Traffic. Tower: Left Closed Traffic approved.
What actually happened was that I was so nervous I said “Left Standard Departure” while thinking I had said “Left Closed Traffic.” Do you want to fly out to the ocean and do some airwork practice? LOL
Landing
During the flight, it seemed like I could hear every word my instructors had ever said to me in every situation—keeping the centerline, maintaining wings level, following the 3-degree glide path, pitching up or down, adding or reducing power, watching airspeed, and so on.
Finally, I landed! At the moment of touchdown, I did exactly what I had planned: shouting “Woohoo!” (please excuse my silliness) and exiting the runway onto the taxiway. I even added, “Not perfect, but it’s okay.”
During the second circuit, there was more traffic, which made the controllers busier. The wind had picked up as well. But I remained calm—probably because safely landing on my first circuit had made me more relaxed. I think so, because I requested correctly by saying “Left Closed Traffic.” There was a moment when I felt rushed, as I was simultaneously managing wind correction and ATC communications. I still have a lot to work on. Aviate, Navigate, Communicate!
I landed safely and completed my first solo flight, returning to the school’s ramp area. The instructor came over to congratulate me and took a photo. It was just fantastic. The first solo—there’s really nothing like it.
Since leaving for the U.S., I’ve gone through so many experiences, but I managed to complete my first solo trip nonetheless. Next up is the second solo, which, unlike the first, will start with me performing the engine start myself.
The second solo will be followed by various other training exercises, and I’ll be even busier in the days to come. Good job—time to get some sleep! (to be continued)
