The Safety Triangle: Balancing Skill, Knowledge, and Judgment in Flying

In the course of giving flying safety lectures before pilot groups, one of my key props has been an assembly of three lengths of lumber, fastened together at each end by swiveling connectors. The resulting equilateral triangle can sit unaided on any of its sides in a stable, solid arrangement.

I have labels on each of the triangle’s sides—one is marked “skill,” another says “knowledge” and the third is labeled “judgment.” I consider each of them equally important in the art and practice of aviation, each supporting the other, each useless by itself. To make the point, I unlock one of the connectors and allow the three lengths of lumber to fall into a heap.

Start With Skill

Skill is, of course, the essence of piloting—a good stick and rudder person can make an airplane deliver every ounce of performance it is capable of giving. It’s a humbling experience to watch a master at work on the controls, so smooth and precise are the control inputs. There is no wasted motion, the airplane responds as if it were pivoting on ball bearings. I have flown with such pilots, always inspired to attempt emulation, never destined to achieve it.

Such skill as I have has been attained at the cost of two years of my lifetime spent in low-earth orbit occupying aircraft cockpits, plodding through thousands of hours of tedious questing. Were I truly gifted, as are some of the real pilots I’ve known, I would have long ago reached a lofty plateau of achievement, able to satisfy myself and onlookers with a superb performance. Instead, I’m merely a decent stick, getting the job done through the years of experience I’ve accumulated. I would be far better than I am, were I but born to the task.

A pilot’s skill, therefore, is an acquired art. We aren’t born knowing how to fly, we have to acquire it the old-fashioned way—we earn it, hour by hour, trip by trip. In olden times, it was possible to order an airplane by mail, assemble it per the instructions enclosed in the crate, then teach yourself to fly it. We lost quite a few would-be pilots that way. It was soon found that a less-painful method was to take flight instruction from an experienced aviator who could point out mistakes and speed initiates along the path to proficiency.

One of the fallacies of flight training, however, is that by graduating from a course of instruction we have been taught to fly. Instead, it might be said that we’ve been taught how not to fly. An instructor helps us steer clear of the unforgiving nature of aviation, to see the consequences of wrong inputs. “Don’t do it that way,” we are warned, “this way is better.” Once placed on the proper path, we continue teaching ourselves to fly, which is a lifelong task.

Seek Knowledge

Impressive as skill may be, however, knowledge is not to be ignored. The best natural pilots may not be reaching their full potential because they lack the knowledge that would help them understand how aircraft work. Skillful flying, while a manual art, is also a thinking game. Analyzing the situation to size up the exact skill needed is best aided through acquiring knowledge. I try to prepare students for two hours of ground study for each hour in the air, knowing full well that it’s only an arbitrary figure written on elastic; some pilots need 10 hours of study to cover the assignment material, while quick learners might get it in an hour.

The point is that we must know what we are about. Without knowledge of even the simplest aircraft’s systems, we are liable to mishandle a minor failure, turning an inconvenience into an emergency. All of our vaunted skills will be unable to save us if we don’t understand the aircraft or environment. Blundering into a crisis because we didn’t have adequate knowledge puts a severe strain on our skills.

It takes as much or more dedication to acquire knowledge as it does to build skill. Most of us have to plod our way through the books, even if aided by interactive computer programs or video presentations. The printed page is still the only way to present massive amounts of data for review. There is a lot to know about aviation, so study, like practice, is a lifelong process. The desire to know more is akin to the drive to get better. It has to come within, because you want to be the best you can be.

Temper With Judgment

The third element of safe piloting—judgment—is fostered and encouraged, not built or acquired. From the time we first fell backwards on our diapered rump, we learned the value of judgment. Good judgment means a pilot is motivated to seek a desirable outcome and he or she will use their acquired skill and learning to get there. Bad judgment, on the other hand, can result from good skills applied wrongly; knowledge forgotten in the drive to ignore danger.

Judgment is difficult—some say impossible—to teach. Humans, being inventive, can subvert such instruction by answering in the approved manner to pass a course, after which they go out and do as they please. Testing for judgment is difficult, other than by reviewing the pilot’s record. Some people are just good at taking tests, but not at applying judgment. If skills are adequate and knowledge test scores are high, deviations from acceptable performance may yet occur due to lapses in judgment.

Each of the three elements of safety supports the other; mediocre flying skills can be safe if tempered by an honest assessment from one’s judgment, which keeps us from going beyond our skills. Knowledge shortcomings can be overcome by understanding that you don’t know enough to proceed into an unfamiliar situation. The solution is to land or turn back until you get more information. Judgment receives input from the pilot’s skill level and learning and determines if they will meet the demands placed on them. Judgment’s vote is crucial to the application of skill and knowledge.

What Happens If It Breaks?

Examples of a broken safety triangle are evident in every accident report. At some point, the pilot in command exceeded one of the three limitations, whether it was deciding to make the trip in the first place or to continue the flight when equipment or weather wasn’t supportive of the effort. An accident involving mechanical failure may be the result of using poor judgment regarding maintenance, a lack of knowledge regarding the signs of impending failure, or inadequate skills that should have been able to keep the airplane flying.

Had pilots involved in an accident recognized that one leg of the safety triangle was missing or about to detach, the outcome would have been different. To keep flying when something critical to the aircraft’s operation doesn’t work is foolish. A number of years ago, a small turboprop airliner landed at our general aviation airport, easing up to the fuel pumps. The captain had discovered that one of his transfer pumps wasn’t working and that he couldn’t move fuel into the main tank feeding an engine. He took extreme action by landing at our airport and adding enough fuel so he would be sure to complete the trip. Unfortunately, some of the passengers reported the incident to the FAA and he was cited for using poor judgment in making the trip with inadequate fuel. I felt he should have been cited for superior judgment in handling a hazardous situation.

Another pilot made a precautionary landing on an interstate highway not far from our airport because his fuel gauges showed nearly empty. He felt the engine could quit any minute, and with his family on board he didn’t want to take any chances trying to reach our runway. As it turned out, he wasn’t short of fuel, he was short of knowledge about his airplane’s electrical system. The fuel scare came about because his alternator had quit and his battery was depleted, resulting in the sinking fuel gauge indications. Good judgment and skills, however, made up for his lack of knowledge, because he used them to escape unharmed.

Sitting in the back where there were no controls, I once had to ride through a series of aborted landings flown by a pilot who wasn’t able to conquer a 20-knot gusting crosswind. He used good judgment, because his skills were clearly being exceeded. He elected to fly to another airport 10 miles away and land using a runway aligned with the wind, where we tied the airplane down to wait for calmer conditions. His knowledge of the alternate airport and willingness to listen to the voice of judgment kept us from harm, despite his inadequate skills.

An excellent natural pilot I knew had the misfortune to suffer an engine failure over a major city. He deadsticked his just-restored airplane into a small park area, damaging it substantially but escaping harm. The engine’s oil consumption was up to a quart every two hours, yet he spent his money on a new paint job rather than an engine overhaul. This poor judgment resulted in a bent bird, and only his superior skill and knowledge was able to save his life.

In each of these examples, the two remaining links augmented a deficiency in skill, knowledge or judgment. However, with the support of the safety triangle, you can proactively avoid accidents. Ignore a weak leg of the triangle, and you may wind up learning the hard way.