For many years, the private pilot curriculum has required instruction on night flying, but once upon a time night flight was required only for commercial pilots. I recall that when I first learned of the new requirement, I thought "OK, we'll spend 3 hours orbiting a big airport, the student will get his experience, and nobody will get hurt".

I knew I was exaggerating, though. We associate night with danger, but we also associate it with romance. In most cases, romance wins. Night time is so beautiful and tranquil that I knew I couldn't resist going out and playing with it. I try to be smart about which nights I fly, and I've tried to stay over familiar territory. I try to pick evenings during the second quarter of the moon, when there is at least a half moon in the evening hours.

It was with annoyance and apprehension that I heard that the rules had changed again, and now also require a flight to an airport 50 miles away. Gone is the safety of the local area, and a quick retreat if the weather becomes unsatisfactory. Flying between Elmira and Rochester on a moonlit night does not really fall under the category of dangerous, though. Since the early airmail routes of the twenties, people have made their livings flying single engine piston planes in the dark of stormy nights. I have spent thousands of hours behind dirty little Continental engines with no failures, and have no rational worry that one should fail over the Bristol Hills or suburban Rochester. It is frustrating though, to see that the best lessons are learned long before we leave our local area.

I have to admit that it was only by accident that I discovered a clever trick on the first of these night trips. I told the student to plan a course to Rochester and back, but to start the line from Watkins Glen rather than Elmira. In an off- hand manner I said that we would fly to Watkins "the usual way". Thus far, each student has learned night flight's biggest lesson before we have left Chemung County. One student even identified the lights of Corning as Watkins, but when he couldn't point out the Seneca lake shorefront, decided that the distant lights of Bath must be Watkins.

Just what is the trick? I let the students be complacent about flight planning. I let them leave Elmira without a plan to get to Watkins. No consideration is made of a heading or of en route landmarks because it is such a familiar trip for them, a "no- brainer". As soon as they take off and turn north, I remind them that the ground ahead is dark because it is a steep hillside, and ask what makes you so sure that we won't run into it rather than fly over it?

With no horizon line, they have no clue, just the reassurance that I wouldn't let it happen. They become distracted and unsure, and the little things start to go awry. With no visual heading fix ahead, they invariably let the plane's nose drift left as we climb. Night flight requires many of the disciplines of instrument flight because it is a cerebral exercise. With few visual cues, you have to remember what to look out for.

Once we finally arrive over Watkins, we turn onto our planned course and drone along a mile above the dark ground below. I refuse to let them use the radios for navigation, giving them the opportunity to learn to dig en route landmarks out of the darkness. It is an easy flight, and we spend the time remarking of the beauty of the lights below, the moon above, or the tranquility of the air. Especially in the winter, it is easy to feel small, just a tiny bubble of warmth and light surrounded by a darkness among the stars.

This helps bring out another of the challenges of night flight We are engaging in an activity that is both cerebral and kinetic, at a time when our brains are accustomed to sitting back and watching TV. It is the end of a working day, and we are sliding down the back side of our daily rhythm. It is our fuzzy time, and not a time that bodes well for quick perception and crisp decision making. I remind students that they must be mindful of this shortcoming.

The instruction needs to be given and there are valuable lessons to be learned. Danger is relative, and safety never an absolute. I make the best choices under the circumstances, and charge ahead. In the words of Tennyson, Theirs not to make reply, theirs not to reason why.

To contact Bob Tilden, send an e-mail.