Back before the hair went white, I, for a few years, had a job as the
'end-of-the-line' check instructor, the bloke who decided whether the
next phase of some pilots' lives was to be in fast jets or not.
('Forget the Corvette, kid, for you it's to be the Mack truck!' The
role was sorta QA for the Government.)
Late one Friday, having re-assigned two lads to a lower-status form of
personal transport, I wrote up the necessary reports, and with nerves
badly jangled from the ordeal (I just hate to upset people), I trudged
despondently to the Officers' Mess for some (only medically-essential,
mind you) restorative tonic.
Where I am ambushed by the remaining fighter conversion course jocks,
the colleagues of the pair so recently dispatched to oblivion. That
the boys had been restoring their nerves for some hours soon became
obvious. Emboldened by spirits, they got stuck into me. (Of course
they should have been grovelling-deferent, the grubs! Any one of them
could have been next on my list.)
The two blokes I had just sent packing had, they tell me, been the
best performers on their pilots' course, first off solo, tops in the
leadership stakes, read Morse Code in their sleep, do navigation sums
in their heads, describe fluid dynamics to their girl friends and get
away with it, real stars, sword of honour, academic dux-of-course, all
that sort of stuff. If they had failed to meet the grade, what chance
for the humbler rest-of-us?
But that wasn't all. It was me that did it, these blokes say! So
intimidating, they assure me, is my presence in the back seat, with
pen poised over knee pad, in their perfervid imaginings, noting their
every error, that they could not perform so as to display the full
level of natural talent. No-one could do it, not even Chuck Yeager,
Bob Hoover, the pressure was so intense. It seems I'm some sort of
ability-suppressing monster!
The option to pull rank and tell them all to go sleep it off is put to
one side as they seem happy to keep up the gin supply. But, I am an
instructor, and must turn this into a learning experience.
'Yes, pressure indeed,' I say, 'I know I impose it on you, and I do
not like that. I also know that if I try hard with words, in the
briefing, or in the aircraft, to reduce your anxiety, the chances are
I'll only increase it. But, it only looks like a no-win situation to
you. Turn it to your advantage. The apprehension I induce in you, as
check instructor, will be as nothing compared to the fear that comes
with being in the middle of a thunderstorm at midnight, or the
bowel-loosening discovery that the other side is allowed to shoot
back. If you show that you can withstand my puny assault on your peace
of mind, then your Air Force will have confidence in your fortitude
under real pressure, like in battle, and thus your career will
prosper.' I do go on a bit, and when they stop buying drinks, go home.
Ah, yes, we did talk that way. Forgive us, we were not fully grown up.
But the point remains, check ride anxiety is real, for many people,
and debilitating.
And, yes, it is a poor indicator for pilot competence in emergencies,
no doubt about it! You can be sure that 'check-ride-itis' is a
powerful predictor of high - and probably disabling - levels of
anxiety in an emergency. So folk who experience it should maybe find
another occupation?
Possibly. Maybe not, though.
In my 'Wombat' paper (Neil has kindly posted it on the website) I
point to the very serious obligations that impinge on the work most of
us are doing. Like, if you know a pilot has such a problem, you either
act in accordance with your public duty to disclose, in the cause of
higher safety factors, or you join the 'liability club'.
More, now that we know that the Wombat (or equivalent) test can show a
propensity to not handle pressure confidently, then there is no
alternative but to introduce testing. No airline can afford not to.
Pilots need not see testing as career-threatening. If your innate
cognitive resilience is low, then you can work it up just as you can
your physical fitness. The key to doing that is motivation. That will
come once you (a) know your 'score' and (b) know what to do by way of
exercise to improve your rating.
You don't even need to find a test machine and engage with it. My book
(also referred to in the Wombat paper) will actually assist you to
self-assess, in private. (Formal testing is recommended.) The book
also points the way to a cognitive fitness exercise regime.
To the pilots who experience test anxiety, their way out is clear.
Assay (through self-assessment or formal test) their ;'state of mind',
and, knowing that, work out of their systems the 'anxiety reflexes'.
It can be done. This is no longer witch doctor stuff.
Indeed, we all should do it. There's time between now and when someone
does make it compulsory, time to put to good purpose, train, get fit.
People who've adopted the code swear by it. Routinely practising tough
cognitive fitness exercises dramatically improves self-confidence,
which, in turn, does remove anxiety, either about facing a test, or
handling a real emergency.
It would, for example, be of great assistance to that captain whose
approach is so shaky as to excite in the co-pilot's mind readiness to
take control.
My earnest plea is for the pilot community to come to grips with the
arguments in the Wombat paper before an external agency forces it on
us. If we do it, we stay ahead of the game, in control of our own
destinies. That is, if you know you are fit, when the testing becomes
mandatory (as it will), your confidence will mean that the test is a
breeze. No test-itis!
Heavy stuff, friends, I acknowledge. All the best with your own
self-appraisal.
Cheers
Doug