So where am I?

More fun under the hood. 

In an attempt to get as much instrument time as possible done and dusted I spend as much time as I physically can on the way to and from the practice area under it.

I don’t mind too much. Instrument work is mentally taxing but I seem to have gotten the hang of it, so I shut up and put up with it. Literally as it happens. The second I put on the cone of stupidity, I lose the ability to speak. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why Bob is so keen to stick me under there!

While the instrument work itself is taxing, it does actually take some of the workload off of me. The radio becomes Bob’s responsibility, certainly in terms of position reports. He also assumes responsibility for traffic lookout, although I do have to remember to ask “am I clear of traffic?” before starting any of the turns, climbs or descents that Bob asks of me.

While the hood work itself isn’t an issue, I don’t like the feeling of confusion I get after I’ve removed the darn thing. Whether you realise it or not, on the way out (or back for that matter) you are subconsciously building up a picture of the traffic around you, where you are in relation to the other people on the frequency and so on. Once you stop paying attention to the radio you get a feeling of intense disorientation once you try to build up the picture again, despite physically knowing exactly where you are.

On the way out, once I’d taken off the hood, I replied in the affirmative to Bob’s “so do you know where you are?” question.

I was directly over Trilium Lake and quickly oriented myself with respect to Claremont. Bob still had to give me a rundown of the traffic in the area though, warning me about another plane that could be an issue.

On the way back, I once again don the dreaded view restriction device and set off on the designated heading. I get a very rough idea of where we are when I hear Bob pick up the ATIS. Still I remain under the hood. I know Bob’s gonna keep me under there for a while, last time I was well over the city, almost abeam the CN Tower before he relented.

We carry on for a while, I’m totally focussed on the instruments in front of me, willing my eyes to flit between the key instruments rather than fixating. I’m vaguely aware of chattering in the background, obviously Bob’s now monitoring the Tower frequency.

“So do you want to make the call to Tower?” he enquires.

“Suuuure Bob, no problem,” I reply with mock enthusiasm. “You wanna tell me where I am?”