The hardest decision I’ve made as a pilot was on the ground, standing by the airplane, wrestling with whether it was safe to go.
Everything was ready—the flight plan, the passengers, mostly good weather—yet something didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to cancel, but I knew deep down I should. If I were a betting man, I’d bet many of you have felt the same.
I did cancel that flight. And I’ve never once regretted it. That’s the thing about the decision not to fly: you’ll rarely hear a pilot say they wished they’d gone. But you’ll hear plenty say they wish they hadn’t.
We don’t like backing out of things. Pilots are problem-solvers by nature. We make things work.
But flying isn’t the place for forcing it. Too many accidents start with a pilot who was determined to go and figured they could sort things out once they were airborne. That creates pressure, which can significantly affect our decision-making.
When you boil it down, the decision to go—or not—has less to do with the airplane and more to do with the pilot’s mindset, and that’s where things get tricky.
We’ve all had that feeling in our gut that something isn’t quite right. But gut feelings are slippery. That’s why we need a structured way to make the go/no-go call, especially before the engine starts turning.
The FAA gives us the PAVE checklist, and it works. Imagine yourself on the ramp getting ready to preflight:
Any red flags? That’s your signal. Stop and think. Better yet, stop and don’t go. If you choose to go and the accident happens, what will you say to the FAA/NTSB, assuming you’re still alive?
For the sake of this reading, you pass the PAVE checklist, and you take the flight. During the flight, the weather drops below VFR, and you’re not instrument-rated. What would you do? Take a look at the following NTSB case study to find out what another pilot chose to do.
On a late winter evening, a private pilot launched from Key West, Florida, bound for Tallahassee in a Piper Arrow. He wasn’t instrument-rated. He didn’t get a preflight weather briefing before departure, though he did talk to flight service en route.
What he knew: a large frontal system was stretching across the Gulf of Mexico and northern Florida. Embedded thunderstorms, widespread rain, and marginal VFR were all along his route. He pressed on anyway.
Despite all this, the pilot kept flying, picking his way through what he described as “buildups” and “overcast areas.” He even admitted he was trying to “maintain VFR” while flying in clouds. ATC offered help. He refused an IFR clearance, citing “a little reliability problem with one of our instruments.”
Radar showed the plane descending through 12,600 feet to 8,800 feet, entering areas of heavy weather echoes. Soon after, the airplane entered a steep descending turn. It broke apart in flight and crashed into the Gulf of Mexico. Both the pilot and passenger were killed.
He knew the weather was bad. He had information that should have convinced him to stay on the ground—or at least turn around. But he chose to press on (source: NTSB Report MIA03FA071).
That example is full of problems from the start. He wasn’t instrument-rated; he didn’t get a preflight weather briefing; his medical wasn’t current. Upon further examination of the NTSB report, just about all of his “instrument training” was logged without an instructor signature. His decision to go proved fatal for him and his passenger.
I’ve seen many pilots, myself included, talk themselves into a flight that they had no business launching. Here are the big warning signs I watch for now:
You’re a new private pilot, about to launch on your first solo cross-country since getting your certificate. The sky is decent at the airport, but it looks a little darker to the west. METARs are still VFR, but ceilings are lowering.
What do you do?
If you’re hesitating, it’s probably not the day. In fact, you know you shouldn’t go. So don’t!
The best pilots I know have a story about a time they didn’t go, and they’re here to tell it. It takes guts to say, “Not today.” You’ll fly another day. Make sure of it.