Revoked!

Revoked.

It's a word that most pilots hope to never hear from the FAA. To have your pilot certificate revoked means that the FAA takes your license away, cancels it, nullifies it. It's as if you never even had a pilot's license.

Today, the FAA revoked the certificates of Captain Cheney and First Officer Cole, pilots of Northwest Flight 188 from San Diego to Minneapolis on October 21st. The Airbus A-320 flew right past Minneapolis...and another 150 miles beyond, in spite of numerous calls from air traffic control and the airline. Neither pilot noticed the lack of communication from ATC for 78 minutes.

In interviews with the NTSB, the pilots said they had been distracted by use of their laptops, as the first officer explained the airline's new crew scheduling program to the captain. That's certainly an understandable scenario, had it not been for the fact that personal laptop usage is prohibited in the cockpit by their employer. And it certainly doesn't honor the most important thing on our priority list: flying the airplane. That's always "Job One." No Matter What.

It's amazing that the Airbus had enough fuel to fly 150 miles past their destination, then fly that same distance back to Minnie, with the reduced fuel loads dictated by fuel conservation that have become the norm these days. I'd bet there were a few moments of concern about fuel quantity on that return leg.

Though most pilots have missed a frequency change and experienced a bit of radio silence from time to time, it's a little hard to understand how one could sit there -- however preoccupied -- for over an hour without wondering why you haven't talked to someone on the ground. Perhaps there's more to the story than the NTSB or FAA has reported.

Though the emergency revocation of both pilot certificates less than a week after the incident seems rather sudden, coming from an agency that is better known for its glacial speed than swift action, it reflects the FAA's judgment that the two pilots were derelict in their duties to provide a safe flight for their 144 passengers and three flight attendants. It's hard to argue that judgment.

There's an old saying in this business that it only takes a few seconds to screw up a perfectly good 30-year airline career. Moral of the story: Don't forget "Job One."

Feel Like a Fool

I’m learning how to learn again.

Recently, after thinking about it for years, I decided to learn to play a stand-up bass. I found a little-used instrument online, bought it, and for the past month, have begun to realize what a great teacher the process of learning something totally new can be.

When I picked up this intimidating big violin for the first time, I was amazed how much I didn’t know: I didn’t know how to keep from hurting the bulky instrument when I picked it up. Can I lift it by the neck, or will that detune it? Does it hurt to pick it up by the f-holes? Once I had it standing up, I didn’t know how to hold and balance it so it wouldn’t fall over while I played it. I didn’t know how to find each of the four strings, and what they would sound like when I did. I didn’t know how to press the string against the neck to make a note without twisting the instrument or forgetting where my left thumb should be, or…oh yeah, not neglecting the proper right hand position in the process.

When done playing, should I lay the instrument on its side, or is it better to place it on its back – or prop it against the wall? I had dozens of questions.

This wonderful process of discovery is a great teaching for anyone; if we pay attention, we will undoubtedly observe that our ego soon wants to run off to more advanced stuff, wanting to immediately play like Jaco Pastorius, Edgar Meyer or Todd Phillips, when in fact, we first need to slowly crawl like a baby. We teach ourselves something as complex as a new instrument just by slowly repeating the basics over and over, developing muscle memory through that repetition. We learn new habits in the process of paying close attention to countless subtleties and nuances – and of course, listening completely and honestly while fully engaged in the moment.

We really only “know” a few things in a narrow niche. So how do we learn something new like making a pleasant sound come from an empty wooden box with four strings so that it the strings don’t buzz, and the notes aren’t sharp or flat? There are no keys, frets or “press here” markings on a stand-up bass. How do I relax and hold my arms, shoulders, hands and fingers without creating stress and fatigue? How do I keep that steady rhythm that bass players are expected to provide their fellow band members while managing so many little things…?

Does any of this sound like our first few hours in an airplane, or a new type aircraft – or better yet, something as complex as flying a helicopter?

I’m loving this process of going back to the beginning, to a place where I am without comfort and the familiar, where I must give up that ubiquitous place of non-learning called, “I know….” It’s certainly giving me a new appreciation for the complex and delicate process we humans learn as I fly with my current helicopter instrument student.

If I can make a recommendation to all pilots – especially flight instructors – go find something new to learn, something you’ve never done before. Not something that is “kinda like” what we do every day; something completely new. Become a rank beginner.

This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t simply seek a different kind of flying or a different aircraft; that’s valuable too. But to get the most out of this teaching, one needs to get completely out of the “yeah, this is a lot like…” mode in which we mostly live, and jump fully into a place where “I don’t know ANYTHING about this…” Face your fear of being a fool, that feeling of falling into the abyss of unknowns; accept that “I suck at this.”

The rewards are in that discomfort. There is magic and a possible new self in that Artful journey.