I Don’t Know. You Are PIC.

From the Examiner's Chair

Article No. 9

The examiner is there to evaluate your decisions—not make them for you. Acting as pilot in command means accepting both the authority and the responsibility to decide what happens next.

Introduction

During a practical test, applicants sometimes ask me questions that sound perfectly reasonable.

"Which runway do you want?"

"Do you want me to go around?"

"Would you fly with this weather?"

"Which airport would you use?"

"What do you want me to do?"

A fellow DPE, Randy Sizemore, gave me one of my favorite ways to answer those questions.

Randy will tell an applicant:

"I don't know. Why don't you ask the PIC?"

I've adopted my own version.

"I don't know. You are PIC."

It occasionally earns a puzzled look.

Sometimes the applicant thinks I'm being difficult.

I'm not.

The question simply belongs to someone else.

The practical test isn't about discovering what the examiner wants to do.

It's about demonstrating that you can make the decisions expected of the pilot in command.

And that isn't merely an examiner's testing philosophy.

Under 14 CFR § 61.47, the examiner is not the pilot in command during a practical test unless the examiner agrees to act in that capacity. (eCFR)

That distinction matters.

Being PIC Isn't a Technicality

I once had an applicant tell me during the preflight briefing that he understood he was technically the PIC, but if any serious decision needed to be made, he intended to defer to me.

His reasoning was understandable.

I had considerably more experience than he did.

I assured him that wasn't how a practical test worked.

As long as we were testing, he needed to be PIC and act like one.

My experience didn't transfer that responsibility back to me.

I may provide information.

I may play the role of ATC, a passenger, or another resource within a scenario.

I may intervene when safety or regulatory compliance requires it.

But I cannot make the applicant's aeronautical decisions for them and still fairly evaluate whether they are prepared to exercise the privileges of the certificate or rating they are seeking.

Some applicants seem to think being PIC during a practical test is primarily a regulatory designation.

It isn't.

It is a decision-making responsibility.

Stop Trying to Read the Examiner

Applicants naturally want to succeed.

That creates an understandable temptation to look across the cockpit or the table and try to determine what the examiner wants.

Is this the airport he expects me to choose?

Does she want me to discontinue the approach?

Is this weather supposed to be acceptable?

Should I divert?

Should I take the runway?

Sometimes the applicant isn't evaluating the situation anymore.

They're evaluating the examiner.

That's almost always the wrong problem to solve.

The practical test exists to evaluate the applicant.

If I tell you what decision I want you to make, I've removed much of what I was trying to evaluate.

I don't need you to agree with me.

I need you to make a reasonable decision of your own and be prepared to explain it.

There May Be More Than One Good Answer

One of the biggest misconceptions about practical testing is that every scenario has a single correct solution hidden somewhere in the examiner's head.

Many don't.

Two applicants can look at essentially the same circumstances and make different choices.

Both may be reasonable.

One pilot might divert.

Another might continue with a carefully considered contingency.

One might choose one airport.

Another might choose a different airport for equally defensible reasons.

One might accept an ATC instruction.

Another might say unable.

The important question isn't always:

Did you choose what I would choose?

It is:

Can you explain why your decision makes sense?

A practical test should evaluate judgment, not mind reading.

When Waiting for the Examiner Becomes the Failure

One Commercial Pilot practical test illustrated this better than almost any discussion could.

The applicant had successfully completed the ground portion, and we moved to the airplane.

My normal preflight briefing includes something along these lines:

"Take off and head toward your cross-country destination. Use your normal procedures and methods. We probably won't make it all the way there, but use the mindset that we're going all the way."

That allows me to observe normal cross-country operations until I introduce an in-flight scenario that causes the applicant to alter the plan.

Occasionally, I don't need to create the scenario.

Reality creates one for us.

That happened on this flight.

Ahead of us was what increasingly looked like a wall of clouds.

The bases of one layer were just above our altitude. The tops of another layer were just below us. Some vertical development from the lower layer created a relatively small opening directly ahead.

I sat quietly and watched.

The airplane continued toward it.

Heading unchanged.

Altitude unchanged.

At first, we were still well within legal VFR cloud-clearance requirements.

That's an important point.

I couldn't assume the applicant was going to violate the regulation while he was still operating legally.

But I also couldn't allow a violation to occur.

So I waited.

And watched.

The airplane continued forward.

It became increasingly apparent that the applicant intended to fly through the opening.

Eventually, I reached the point where I could no longer let the situation develop without risking a violation of VFR cloud-clearance requirements in Class E airspace.

I said:

"You are entirely too close to these clouds."

The applicant immediately responded:

"What do you want me to do?"

That question told me everything.

I replied:

"Don't violate VFR limits and take me back to the airport. I'm sorry, but that's an intervention by me, and that means the test is unsatisfactory."

He was stunned.

We returned to the airport.

He Was Waiting for Me to Be PIC

During the debrief, the applicant explained that he assumed I would tell him if I wanted him to do something other than continue straight ahead on the cross-country.

That was exactly the problem.

It wasn't my decision to make for him.

I reminded him of something I had told him during the preflight briefing:

"You are the PIC. I'm just an observer and passenger."

He explained that he thought continuing the cross-country was something he was expected to do.

But I had also told him before departure that we probably wouldn't make it all the way to the planned destination.

Normally, I would eventually introduce a reason to divert.

On this flight, Mother Nature had done it for me.

The situation required a decision.

Turn around.

Divert.

Change altitude if an appropriate and legal option existed.

Do something else reasonable.

There may have been several acceptable choices.

But continuing unchanged until I was forced to intervene wasn't one of them.

Had I coached him away from the clouds while there was still ample time for him to recognize the situation himself, I would no longer have been evaluating his decision making.

I would have been helping him make the decision.

The applicant didn't fail because he couldn't recite VFR cloud-clearance requirements.

He failed because he never took ownership of the situation.

He waited for the examiner to become the pilot in command.

Silence Does Not Mean Approval

This is one of the most important things applicants need to understand.

The examiner has a responsibility for safety.

That doesn't mean the examiner is there to quietly steer you away from every poor decision.

Those are different responsibilities.

If I have to intervene because safety or regulatory compliance requires it, we've reached a very different point in the evaluation.

That's why waiting for the examiner to speak can be dangerous during a practical test.

Silence does not mean approval.

It may simply mean I'm giving you the opportunity to recognize the situation and act before I have to.

What Happened Afterward

Unfortunately, the consequences of that practical test didn't end when we landed.

The applicant returned to his home flight school and cautioned others against flying with me whenever there were clouds in the sky.

The story had changed.

Instead of:

"I continued toward clouds until the examiner had to intervene because I hadn't made a decision as PIC,"

the lesson became something closer to:

"Don't fly with him if there are clouds around."

Flight instructors study defense mechanisms as part of the Fundamentals of Instructing. The FAA's Aviation Instructor's Handbook describes rationalization as a subconscious process in which someone develops a plausible justification for an otherwise unacceptable action. (Federal Aviation Administration)

I think rationalization played a role here.

The explanation spread through the flight school, and soon it began affecting other applicants.

For a period of time, applicants were canceling otherwise perfectly reasonable practical tests because there were clouds in the sky—even when ceilings were six or seven thousand feet and there were miles of open sky available for the flight.

Not long afterward, another applicant from the same school successfully completed the ground portion of his practical test.

He looked outside, saw some clouds and told me we would probably need to discontinue because he didn't want to fail for getting too close to them.

At that point, I understood just how far the story had traveled.

My initial response was simple:

"Then stay away from the clouds. There's plenty of sky without a cloud around for miles. Let's fly there."

As an examiner, I maintain discretion when discussing practical tests, particularly unsatisfactory results. I don't identify applicants or casually discuss the details of their tests.

But in this case, the misunderstanding was affecting other applicants.

I needed to clear the air.

Without identifying anyone, I explained what had actually happened.

The previous applicant hadn't failed because clouds existed.

He hadn't failed because I expected some secret distance from them beyond the regulatory requirements.

He failed because a real-world condition required a PIC decision, and he continued until I had to make that decision for him.

Once the distinction was understood, the unnecessary cancellations and fear stopped.

That experience taught me something too.

Applicants should be cautious about the stories they hear following someone else's unsatisfactory practical test.

The person telling the story may sincerely believe their explanation.

That doesn't necessarily mean they fully understand why the test was unsatisfactory.

Clouds are still just clouds. What matters is what the pilot does about them.

"What Would You Do?"

Another question I hear from applicants is:

"What would you do?"

There's nothing inherently wrong with asking an experienced pilot that question during training.

It's one of the ways we learn.

But during a practical test, timing matters.

If I've asked what you would do and your response is to ask what I would do, we've avoided the very thing I'm trying to evaluate.

Sometimes I'll simply turn the question around:

"You're the PIC. What are you going to do?"

That isn't an attempt to withhold useful information.

It's an attempt to preserve the decision.

Once you've made your choice, I'm interested in your reasoning.

Why?

What risks did you consider?

What alternatives did you reject?

What would cause you to reconsider?

What's your backup plan?

Those answers reveal much more than whether you happened to select the same option I would have.

Asking for Help Isn't Giving Up PIC Authority

None of this means being PIC requires making every decision alone.

Good pilots use resources.

They ask ATC for help.

They consult another pilot.

They call maintenance.

They use dispatch when available.

They look things up.

They request vectors.

They declare emergencies when appropriate.

Sometimes the best decision a PIC can make is to ask for assistance.

But there's an important distinction between asking for information or assistance and asking someone else to make the decision.

"What options can you give me?"

is very different from:

"What do you want me to do?"

The first gathers resources.

The second attempts to transfer responsibility.

Good aeronautical decision making often involves asking for help.

It never eliminates the PIC's responsibility to decide what to do with that help.

Confidence Isn't the Same as Certainty

Applicants sometimes hesitate because they aren't completely certain their decision is the best one.

That's understandable.

Real-world aviation rarely provides perfect information.

Weather changes.

Forecasts are imperfect.

Maintenance problems occur.

Passengers create pressure.

ATC changes plans.

Fuel becomes more important than expected.

Pilots frequently have to make the best decision available without knowing exactly how everything will turn out.

I don't expect certainty.

I expect judgment.

An applicant might say:

"Based on what I know right now, I would divert. If these conditions improve before I reach this point, I may reconsider."

That's a decision.

It's also flexible.

The applicant has established a plan while recognizing what information could cause the plan to change.

That's much stronger than trying to guess which answer will please the examiner.

Owning the Decision Means Being Willing to Change It

Acting as PIC doesn't mean stubbornly defending every decision you've already made.

Sometimes new information proves the original plan was wrong.

Good.

Change it.

Changing a decision isn't weakness.

Continuing with a poor decision simply because you made it earlier isn't decisiveness.

It's commitment to a mistake.

The PIC owns the original decision.

The PIC also owns the decision to change it.

Sometimes one of the best demonstrations of judgment on a practical test is:

"Based on what I know now, I wouldn't do what I originally planned."

That's exactly what a good pilot should be able to say.

For Flight Instructors

Flight instructors can unintentionally create dependence by answering decision-making questions too quickly.

A student asks:

"Should we fly today?"

The instructor answers.

"Which runway should I use?"

The instructor answers.

"Should I go around?"

The instructor answers.

Eventually, the student becomes very good at flying with an instructor sitting beside them.

But that's not the objective.

The objective is to develop a pilot who can operate safely when the instructor isn't there.

Before answering, consider returning the decision.

"What do you think?"

"What information do you need?"

"What are your options?"

"Which one would you choose?"

Then let the student decide.

If the choice is unsafe, intervene.

If it's simply different from yours, consider allowing the student to work through it.

Students develop judgment by exercising judgment.

They can't develop it if we make every meaningful decision for them.

And perhaps just as importantly, when a student experiences an unsatisfactory outcome, help them accurately understand why.

Rationalizing the result may protect the ego temporarily.

It does nothing to correct the problem.

Putting It Into Practice

Before your next training flight or practical test, pay attention to who is actually making the decisions.

Applicants and Pilots

Ask yourself:

• Am I making the decision, or trying to determine what someone else wants me to say?

• What information do I actually need before deciding?

• What risks am I accepting?

• What alternatives are available?

• Can I explain why my choice is reasonable?

• What new information would cause me to change my decision?

• Am I asking for useful assistance—or asking someone else to assume responsibility for my choice?

• If the examiner remains silent, am I mistakenly treating that silence as approval?

• If my original plan stops making sense, am I willing to abandon it?

• If something goes wrong, can I honestly evaluate my own decisions afterward?

Flight Instructors

Before answering a student's question, ask yourself:

• Is the student asking for information, or asking me to make the decision?

• Can I return the question without compromising safety?

• Have I taught the student how to evaluate the available options?

• Am I allowing reasonable decisions that differ from my own?

• Do my students become more independent as training progresses?

• Would this student make the same decision if I weren't sitting beside them?

• When something goes wrong, am I helping the student understand the real cause instead of accepting an easier explanation?

The goal isn't to create pilots who always make the same decisions we would.

It's to create pilots capable of making good decisions without us.

From the Examiner's Chair

I don't expect applicants to know what I'm thinking.

In fact, I'd rather they stop trying.

I don't need them to choose my airport.

Choose my route.

Share my personal minimums.

Or make every decision exactly the way I would.

I need them to evaluate the situation in front of them, identify the risks, use the resources available, make a reasonable decision and accept responsibility for what happens next.

14 CFR § 61.47 says the examiner is not the pilot in command unless the examiner agrees to assume that role. (eCFR)

I think applicants should understand the significance of that well beyond the regulatory language.

When I tell you before a practical test:

"You are the PIC. I'm just an observer and passenger."

I mean it.

Sometimes you'll ask:

"What would you do?"

There are plenty of times in aviation when that's an excellent question.

But when the decision belongs to you, my answer may still be:

"I don't know."

"You are PIC."

Because ultimately, that's the person the practical test is supposed to evaluate.

— Brad Kramer
FAA Designated Pilot Examiner

About the Author

Brad Kramer is an FAA Designated Pilot Examiner based in Evansville, Indiana. He has over 25 years of aviation experience and has conducted FAA practical tests for more than a decade. His goal is to help applicants and flight instructors better understand the principles behind safe flight operations, sound aeronautical decision-making, and the Airman Certification Standards.