Blog Elements : IFR Focus

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The Checkride Was the Easy Part: Moving Beyond Certification to Operational Mastery

June 30, 2026/by Tim Decker

A checkride demonstrates proficiency under evaluation standards. Real-world flying requires pilots to apply those same skills while managing changing weather, passenger expectations, operational pressures, unfamiliar airports, and evolving ATC clearances. This boundary between demonstrated proficiency and operational proficiency is where some of aviation’s most valuable learning occurs.

What Lies Beneath the MDA

June 25, 2026/by Lee Smith

Continuous descent final approaches have been a staple in professional flying for a long time. They have proven safer and easier to manage than the old-fashioned, dive-and-drive method of flying a non-precision approach. This technique manifests in general aviation avionics as the +V advisory glidepaths for non-precision approaches.

The Checkride Was the Easy Part: Moving Beyond Certification to Operational Mastery

June 30, 2026/by Tim Decker

What Lies Beneath the MDA

June 25, 2026/by Lee Smith

Full Sized Blog Element (Big Preview Pic)

The Checkride Was the Easy Part: Moving Beyond Certification to Operational Mastery

June 30, 2026/by Tim Decker

Editor’s Note: Welcoming Tim Decker to IFR Focus

IFR Focus welcomes Capt. Tim Decker

We’re thrilled to welcome Capt. Tim Decker as a contributor to IFR Focus. Tim brings an extraordinary depth of experience spanning military, corporate, and airline aviation, combined with a deep passion for mentoring general aviation pilots.

A retired U.S. Air Force pilot, Tim’s military career includes flying iconic aircraft like the U-2 and F-117 Nighthawk. Today, he serves as a Boeing 757 Captain for FedEx, accumulating more than 16,000 total flight hours over his career. But despite his extensive jet time, Tim remains deeply rooted in the general aviation community as a longtime Cirrus SR22 owner, CFI, CFII, and MEI.

Tim specializes in helping owner-pilots transition safely and confidently into high-performance turbine aircraft. He is a Cirrus Vision Jet mentor pilot and instructor, an Epic E1000 factory-trained instructor, and a HondaJet type-rated pilot. His instructional focus bridges the gap between different worlds, taking the rigorous standardization, risk management, and disciplined decision-making found in airline and military cockpits and making them practical for single-pilot Part 91 operations.

Based in Nashville, Tennessee, Tim is dedicated to helping pilots develop true operational mastery in the real-world IFR system. We are proud to feature his unique perspective at IFR Focus, and we know our readers will benefit immensely from his insights in this and future articles.

The Checkride Was the Easy Part: Moving Beyond Certification to Operational Mastery

Passing the checkride proves you can fly the airplane. Operating it safely in the real world is a different challenge altogether.

by Tim Decker

Passing a checkride is a significant accomplishment. Whether it’s an instrument rating, a commercial certificate, a type rating, or an ATP, the successful applicant has demonstrated the knowledge, skill, and judgment required to meet established standards. Most pilots understand that earning a certificate doesn’t mark the end of their development. What often comes as a surprise, however, is how different real-world operations feel from the controlled environment of a practical test or simulator session.

I was reminded of this recently when a fully qualified pilot who had just completed training in a high-performance turbine aircraft asked me to accompany him on a cross-country flight. The summer weather featured widespread convective activity along the route—nothing unusual for IFR flying, but enough to require some tactical thought.

Before filing, he asked me to review his flight plan, which was routed direct to the destination. Looking at the weather, I saw an area of green and yellow precipitation with an occasional patch of red along his line. There was no lightning, but it was an area that would almost certainly require tactical decision-making in IMC.

I suggested an alternate route via a VOR located approximately 30 degrees off course. It added only a modest amount of distance but kept us completely clear of the weather.

His response was reasonable: “Why don’t we just go direct and ask for deviations if we need them? There’s no lightning showing.” He wasn’t wrong; that plan probably would have worked. But I told him that wasn’t how a professional dispatcher would file the flight for an airline crew.

A dispatcher wouldn’t intentionally launch a flight toward an area where deviations are likely. Instead, they file the route most likely to produce an uneventful flight from the beginning. The goal isn’t simply to complete the flight safely; it is to do so while minimizing workload, reducing uncertainty, preserving options, and enhancing passenger comfort.

The revised route was a perfect example of what good aeronautical decision-making should accomplish. It was safe, legal, and efficient. Several hours later, while cruising comfortably along our weather-free route, the pilot looked toward his original path and simply said, “I’m glad we’re not over there.” The flight was uneventful, and that’s exactly the point. The best decisions prevent problems from developing in the first place.

Beyond the Checkride

The FAA’s training standards do an excellent job evaluating whether a pilot can perform specific tasks, like flying an approach or managing an emergency. These skills form the essential foundation of safe flight. But real-world IFR flying involves the gap that exists between certification and operational proficiency.

Training programs teach pilots how to meet established standards. Real-world flying requires them to apply those skills in dynamic environments where the correct answer is rarely obvious and judgment becomes just as important as aircraft control. The question isn’t just whether you can fly the approach, but whether you can safely manage everything happening around it. Can you recognize a weather threat early? Stay ahead of changing clearances? Identify when your workload is exceeding capacity?

Throughout my career—whether flying military aircraft, corporate jets, airliners, or mentoring owner-pilots—I’ve observed the same pattern: Most mistakes don’t begin with a loss of aircraft control. They begin with a loss of operational control.

Managing Workload, Automation, and Situational Awareness

Many pilots think of workload as something that happens to them, but professional pilots view it as something to be managed or prevented. Consider how things unravel during an IFR flight: a pilot becomes occupied with weather, falls behind the avionics, rushes the approach briefing, misses a radio call, and suddenly finds himself reacting to events instead of anticipating them. The airplane may still be under control, but the operation is no longer being managed.

One of the most effective ways to improve safety is to reduce workload before the flight ever begins, just like our weather-routing decision. Professional pilots constantly look for ways to simplify the operation because they understand that mental capacity is a finite resource.

The same principle applies to automation. Today’s owner-pilot has access to technology—flight directors, synthetic vision, datalink weather, and sophisticated autopilots—that airline crews a generation ago could only dream about. But automation is still just a tool. The challenge isn’t learning how to use it; it’s learning how to manage it.

A pilot transitioning into turbine aircraft once shared a great observation: the most important skill isn’t mastering a specific procedure, but maintaining situational awareness throughout every phase of flight. Success ultimately comes down to consistently answering three questions:

What is the airplane doing?
What is the automation doing?
What should happen next?

In the airline world, we refer to this as Flight Path Management. Pilots who can consistently answer these questions are rarely surprised by the aircraft or the operation.

The Missing Link: Mentorship

Experience and judgment are difficult to teach in a classroom. They develop through exposure. In military aviation, new pilots fly alongside experienced flight leads who help them develop decision-making skills, followed by a detailed debrief.

Civilian airline aviation follows a similar model. A pilot may arrive with 1,500 hours, but they still undergo rigorous simulator training and then enter Initial Operating Experience (IOE), flying alongside a Line Check Airman before being released to fly with a regular Captain. The industry understands that certification does not equal mastery.

Yet, owner-pilots often complete training and immediately begin operating sophisticated aircraft single-pilot in busy airspace and challenging weather with no Captain sitting next to them. As a result, Single-Pilot Resource Management (SRM) becomes one of the most critical skills an owner-pilot can develop.

Interestingly, aviation insurance underwriters have reached the same conclusion. When pilots transition into high-performance aircraft, insurance requirements often include mentor-pilot time and operational restrictions. These are not arbitrary; they are based on decades of actuarial data showing where pilots are most vulnerable. A mentor isn’t there to fly the airplane; they are there to help accelerate the development of judgment by teaching you how experienced pilots think.

Building Your Professional Development Program

Fortunately, owner-pilots don’t have to figure this out alone. Type clubs and type-specific organizations (such as COPA, BPPP, VPO, and CJP) provide access to experienced instructors, standardized operating practices, scenario-based training, and a community willing to share lessons learned.

My recommendation is simple: join them, attend their events, and fly with their instructors. More importantly, build ongoing relationships with mentors you trust. Call them when you’re planning a challenging trip, and consider hiring them periodically to accompany you on real-world flights where learning can occur in your actual operating environment.

Another significant difference between professional aviation and general aviation is the frequency of recurrent training. In the commercial world, proficiency is viewed as perishable. Yet many GA pilots receive little formal training beyond the legal requirement of a Flight Review every two years.

If you are routinely flying family, friends, or business associates through the IFR system, I encourage you to hold yourself to a higher standard. Seek training every six to nine months, use simulators when available, and schedule mentorship flights focused purely on improving operational decision-making.

The Real Goal

Pilots often pursue the next rating or credential believing it will inherently make them safer. Training and certificates matter, but the real goal is becoming the kind of pilot who consistently prevents problems from developing in the first place.

Whether you’re flying a Skyhawk, a Bonanza, a Cirrus, a turbine aircraft, or an airliner, the fundamentals remain the same: manage your workload, use automation wisely, stay ahead of the airplane, and train more often than the regulations require. A checkride demonstrates proficiency under evaluation standards, but the rest of your aviation career should be spent developing true operational proficiency in the real world.

What Lies Beneath the MDA

June 25, 2026/by Lee Smith

Your navigator can give you a useful vertical path past the MDA to the runway, but that doesn’t mean the approach was designed for you to follow it all the way down.

Let’s say you’re inbound to Sidney Municipal (N23) on a scuddy IFR day in the Catskills. Winds are calm and your arrival direction favors Runway 25, so you load the RNAV (GPS) RWY 25, capture the advisory glidepath (+V), and ride it down until you break out with the runway in sight. Well, “in sight” is legal as you have somewhere just south of 3 statute miles visibility, but it sure is nice to have that glidepath to keep you stabilized and on target. You land, taxi in, and get on with your life.

Now let’s do it again but with your arrival favoring Runway 7. Same airport, same weather, same avionics, and the same desire to use all the tools for a stable, on-target approach. You load the RNAV (GPS) RWY 7, capture the advisory glidepath, and head down. You emerge from the clouds to see, not a runway, but a hillside. You glance down to the glidepath and see you’re dead center—but look back up to realize you’re about to be dead center on that hill.

You pitch and power up hard and pass over the trees about 1.5 NM short of the runway, close enough to worry about leaves in the wheelpants. (Check out our companion Sim Challenge if you want to watch that happen in your home simulator.)

Check out our companion Sim Challenge if you want to watch that happen in your home simulator.

What’s the difference between these two approaches? Both are LNAV only. Both offer advisory glidepaths (a.k.a. “LP+V” or “LNAV+V,” respectively). Your avionics displays the same glidepath cues you get for the LPV at your home airport. Yet one runway lets you get away with treating that cue like the real thing, and the other… doesn’t.

The problem is that a reasonable procedure, a helpful box, and a pilot trained to fly a stabilized approach can still combine to make the wrong move seem right. The essential detail is that neither of these two approaches at Sidney give you protected vertical guidance below the MDA.

Reading Between the Lines

There are clues on the charts. (And, no, it’s not that Runway 25 offers LP minimums. This has nothing to do with minimums.)

Neither procedure guarantees obstacle clearance along the path to the runway once you’re below the MDA. The expectation is that before leaving the MDA, you have the visibility, visual references on the airport, and are in a position from which a normal descent can be made using normal maneuvers required by 14 CFR 91.175 (c). It follows that you can then visually avoid anything poking up between you and the runway.

Runway 25 gives you the usual cues for making that judgment: a published Visual Descent Angle (VDA) of 3.66°, a Visual Descent Point (VDP) 2.6 NM from the threshold, and a PAPI waiting for you to go visual. While that doesn’t turn the LNAV into protected vertical guidance, it does give you references for deciding whether the descent in front of you is “normal.” And that VDA is probably the +V angle used by your GPS navigator. It’s the angle from the FAF at SIBJI to the touchdown zone.

The profile view on the N23 RNAV (GPS) RWY 25 approach plate includes a VDP, VDA/TCH, a published Visual Descent Angle (VDA) of 3.66°, Visual Descent Point (VDP), and a Threshold Crossing Height (TCH). This means the 3° slope must be clear of obstacles.

This is where Sidney’s approaches to Runways 25 and 7 part company. The Runway 7 chart has no such angle, even though the GPS navigator will still offer +V. There’s no VDP or PAPI, either. The chart has not forgotten to give you the normal descent assistance. It is declining to bless any.

The profile view’s lack of a published descent angle and visual descent point, plus the “Visual Segment – Obstacles” note, means not all is as it seems on this approach.

AIM 5-4-5(k)

Obstacles may penetrate the obstacle identification surface below the MDA in the visual segment of an IAP that has a published VDA/TCH. When the VDA/TCH is not authorized due to an obstacle penetration that would require a pilot to deviate from the VDA between MDA and touchdown, the VDA/TCH will be replaced with the note “Visual Segment–Obstacles” in the profile view of the IAP.

AIM 5-4-5 (k) is surprisingly clear on this topic. Even though a VDA might appear on the chart, it doesn’t guarantee obstacle protection below the MDA. That section below the MDA as you descend to the runway is the “visual segment.” The AIM also notes that the presence of a VDA doesn’t change non-precision approach requirements. Put more plainly, an LNAV approach with a glidepath-looking thing displayed on your avionics is still just an LNAV approach. The MDA does not turn into a DA just because the box offers you a vertical path.

The AIM is equally clear that if obstacles in the visual segment would require a pilot to deviate from the vertical path between the MDA and touchdown, the VDA/Threshold Crossing Height (TCH) is not authorized and is replaced with the note “Visual Segment – Obstacles.”

That note is the FAA’s way of suggesting that you probably shouldn’t follow the vertical path below the MDA on that procedure no matter how good the visibility—or at least follow it with extreme suspicion.

The Role of Advisory VNAV

On the Garmin G1000 NXi, the Glidepath Indicator is the same magenta diamond symbol for both official vertical guidance and advisory vertical guidance.

Since advisory vertical navigation encourages stabilized approaches to the MDA, AIM 5-4-5(k)(1)(b) notes that navigation data providers are allowed to calculate and provide vertical angles to pilots—even where the FAA does not provide one. However, it reiterates: “Pilots are cautioned that they are responsible for obstacle avoidance in the visual segment regardless of the presence or absence of a VDA/TCH and associated navigation system advisory vertical guidance.”

Unpacking this, what you should take away is that following advisory vertical guidance is optional, but an excellent choice, down to the MDA. There should be no obstacle issues (assuming you cross above any stepdown altitudes on the way down). It’s just below the MDA where trouble may lurk.

Not all visual segment penetrations are equal. Offending obstacles are quite common. The penalty is often just increased visibility requirements, no VDP, or a restriction on using the approach at night. These are the FAA’s way of ensuring you have sufficient opportunity to see the obstacles below the MDA before you hit them. The Runway 25 Approach has some visual penetrations to the 34:1 slope that’s evaluated up from the runway (a 3° glidepath is a 20:1 slope, so the 34:1 is a shallower area beneath it). How can you tell? The Runway 25 Approach has a VDP, which requires a clear 20:1 slope. But it doesn’t have the light grey line (known as the stipple line) connecting the VDP to the runway. That requires a clear 34:1 slope. So the 34:1 slope must have penetrations.

“Visual Segment – Obstacles“ is more serious. AIM 5-4-5 says the note appears when an obstacle penetration would require a pilot to deviate from the VDA between the MDA and touchdown. Something along the centerline pokes into the vertical path that you would follow.

For Runway 7, that’s an entire hillside. So “Visual Segment – Obstacles” says more than the visual segment isn’t entirely clear. It’s closer to: “That normal-looking path you want to fly down to the runway isn’t going to work.” But unless you know the nuances of the visual segment, that note may seem to undersell its importance.

The Last Mile

Garmin Service Alert

Advisory vertical guidance provides vertical path information only and does not provide obstacle or terrain clearance assurance in the visual segment of an approach. Although advisory vertical guidance can assist with maintaining a glidepath angle that complies with altitude restrictions, it remains the pilot’s responsibility to fly in strict compliance with the published approach procedure.

Read the full service alert »

This is fundamentally a human-factors problem. The GPS annunciation may say LP+V instead of LPV, and the minima line may say MDA, but when the workload is high … you see how this could go poorly. It’s a textbook setup for a negative learning transfer—in this case, following an LP+V glidepath the same way you would for an LPV approach … right past the MDA. (It’s worth noting that Garmin issued Service Alert 26027 on March 12, 2026 addressing this very issue.)

The practical defense is understanding that the approach provides obstacle protection above MDA. The advisory glidepath helps you fly a stabilized approach to the MDA. From there, you must have the required visual references to continue. The GPS navigator will continue depicting a straight path to the runway, but it’s on you to ensure that path is clear.

The cues you’re looking for are: +V on the navigator (which will always be to an MDA, not DA), no VDA, no VDP, no VGSI, no TCH, and especially, “Visual Segment – Obstacles,” indicating that the visual descent from MDA to the runway may not be straightforward. This may require some adjustments that strain the definition of normal maneuvers.

In those cases, the honest answer at the MDA may be that you just can’t get there from here.

Continue Reading

For a deeper dive into the complexities surrounding advisory vertical guidance, read The Advisory Vertical Guidance Catch-22.

Half Sized Blog Element (Single Author Style)

Half Sized Blog Element (Multi Author Style)

The Checkride Was the Easy Part: Moving Beyond Certification to Operational Mastery

What Lies Beneath the MDA

The Checkride Was the Easy Part: Moving Beyond Certification to Operational Mastery

What Lies Beneath the MDA

Full Sized Blog Element (Big Preview Pic)

The Checkride Was the Easy Part: Moving Beyond Certification to Operational Mastery

Editor’s Note: Welcoming Tim Decker to IFR Focus

The Checkride Was the Easy Part: Moving Beyond Certification to Operational Mastery

Passing the checkride proves you can fly the airplane. Operating it safely in the real world is a different challenge altogether.

by Tim Decker

Beyond the Checkride

Managing Workload, Automation, and Situational Awareness

The Missing Link: Mentorship

Building Your Professional Development Program

The Real Goal

What Lies Beneath the MDA

Reading Between the Lines

The Role of Advisory VNAV

The Last Mile

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