My Second First Solo

Have you ever felt so happy, you cried?
Ever felt weightless with pride, on fire with joy, lit up by power, ached with disappointment, pierced with fear, or engulfed with determination?
I have. All within four tiny walls, with only air below me, and only the heavens above.

This is the story of how I learned to fly. A story that is far from over. I am telling my story for several reasons. Firstly, for selfish purposes, to document my progress, encourage myself when I feel that the road ahead is too daunting. Also, however, so that perhaps someone out there will be reached by my words. Whether they can apply my lessons to their own progress building a career in aviation, or perhaps to encourage one who feels that any task is too daunting, any hill too steep to climb. Whether this be emotional, physical, academic, work-related, relationship based or within oneself, I feel like I am alive today, and have been through what I have been through to help others. I spent a very long time focused on myself. These days are over. I want to share my journey, and my gratitude, with you.

Learning to fly has been the most life-changing adventure i have ever embarked upon. Over the past year, from the first moment i sat in the left seat, to the joy-filled scream i let out (in my car, doing a little happy dance in my seat in the parking lot) after successfully passing my PPL flight test, I have grown academically, spiritually, and emotionally in immeasurable terms. I have learned to trust my judgement. I have learned to work harder than i ever knew imaginable. I have learned to stand tall with pride. I have learned to face bravely those who challenge and seek to undermine me. I have learned never to give up. The freedom of flight does not happen only when your wheels leave the runway. It begins in your heart.

Today i had my "second first solo."

Several months ago, i was involved in an accident. Since that time, i have been building my confidence back piece by piece, taking baby steps towards finding my courage again.
Three weeks after the accident, i was back in the airplane again. Everything made me nervous, any sound that was once familiar seemed suspicious, the controls felt frail and the aircraft so small, delicate, so tiny in the hands of god, so small in the vast sky. On my first time back in the airplane, i flew over my hometown with the instructor who had guided me through my PPL. He was calm and gentle, we cruised around as if it was my discovery flight again.
The second time back in the airplane we practiced stalls and slow flight. Maneuvers which had once felt second-nature left me second-guessing myself. I was frustrated, confused, i ached inside.
That night, i had a dream. It was vivid and haunting, yet i awoke with a shred more confidence. I dreamed that i had a long and hard road ahead of me. But underneath, i knew that i could overcome, and that i would succeed.

Over the next 2 months, i slowly began working on my night rating and my IFR training. Progress was slow, but i reminded myself to love, support, and care for my spirit while i worked at improving my skills and moving forward with my training.

I had been having a hard time with my landings. It wasn't my technique that was suffering, it was my confidence. As soon as i set up for an approach, i would break into a sweat. My heart would pound, my vision would swim, my hands would tremble. I would always manage to get it together within several moments, but i was having a hard time climbing an emotional mountain.

One joyful night as my instructor and i worked on dual circuits, i found my groove again. I had one greaser landing, and then another, and another! I was setting up, levelling off in ground effect for the float, and finding patience as i let the aircraft sink. Then, gently flaring steadily and with patience, i was easing it onto the runway. I suddenly found it to be a game, each circuit i challenged myself to make the next landing even better! My instructor decided at the end of the lesson that i was ready to start my solo night circuits.

Since the accident, i had accumulated plenty of PIC time. I had been flying consistently, still pushing myself to visit new airports and fly at least once a week. However, i had always brought fellow pilots along, almost as a security blanket. My pilot friends were stoked to be on board, as many were at that stage between receiving their commercial and finding their first job, a stage at which few can find the money to fly themselves. My ex, a commercial airline pilot, enjoyed coming along as he felt rewarded as he shared his knowledge with me. Therefore, my pilot friends were happy to be on board, even as passengers.
My instructor had decided, however, that it was time for me to take of the pilot-friend safety blanket, and fly solo. He referred to it as "ripping the bandaid off." I was trying to think of it more as "removing the bandaid swiftly, then pressing a hand over the wound to take away the sting, and then giving it a little kiss better." He wanted me to do this by day before i soloed at night.

It was with this in mind that i awoke this morning. I was calm as i dressed and showered, and made me way out to the car for the drive to the airport. As soon as i hit the highway, i was in an entirely different state.

My hands were clammy, my throat dry, and my heart pounded to the rhythm of my ipod on the stereo. I trusted my skills, but i didn't trust my rogue and doubting mind. I was afraid.

Then a strange thing happened when i got to the airport. I walked in the door of the flying club, and it was just another day. Dispatchers typed away at the computer. Old-timers sipped coffee and gossiped in the cafe. Eager student pilots clutched their e6b's and kneeboards and hung on their intructor's every word. I felt at home. My walk-around was a meditation. I was a monk, serene on a mountaintop in nepal. The windsock danced in the light breeze like prayer flags. The steading churning of cessna engines firing to life around me was a chanting prayer.

....well not really...that's pretty hippy. but let's just say everything was so familiar it felt just like any other day i had shown up at the airport to do circuits. When i hopped in the left seat and began my checklist, i felt that all was as it should be....

...until i called clearance and was told that the circuit was full.

Dammit.

The weather wasn't awesome, it was broken at 2500 with some evil looking TCUs out over the practice area, so i didn't really feel like leaving the circuit. Reluctantly, i shut 'er down and trudged back to the flying club. I was glumb-ly returning the logbook and keys to the dispatcher when the flying club phone rang.

"Hello? Yes, she's still here. Yes she said it was full. Oh, ok. Well, i'll tell her, thanks."

It was the tower.

Now, to give you a little bit of perspective here, the flying club is located at an international airport. The international airport at the capital city of the province. The tower isn't in the habit of calling down to help out silly little private pilots who can't get in the circuit. But my dad had been an Air Traffic Controller for 35 years at that tower, and apparently i had some friends in high places! Internally thanking my lucky stars for my family connections, i scooted back out to the plane and put my head back in the game for my departure.

Run-up complete, holding short of runway 27 for departure, my heart pounded in my chest. I felt like a 40 hour pilot inside. I took a deep breath and glanced up at the sky. It welcomed me. I knew that this was my moment.

Cleared for take-off, i taxied onto the runway. My heart raced on, but suddenly it was a drum, beating for me, encouraging me, pumping my veins with fresh and positive energy, adrenaline urging me on. Full power, oil temperature and pressures check, airspeed alive, and i was up!

180 horses purred beneath me as i soared into the sky. A grin broke out across my face for a moment, and was replaced with a calm and confident smile softly gracing my lips. The ground fell away beneath me and i felt the familiar "whoosh" of a pocket of air below me. At 900 feet, attitude, power, and trim, and i was on my crosswind leg, soaring across the bay. The mountains below me were a crisp evergreen, the sea caught the afternoon sunlight, shimmering a thousand diamonds. The romance was stilled for a moment as i made my downwind call, only to come rushing back to greet me again as i sailed out over the marina at the end of my downwind leg. The first circuit i was cleared a low approach only, and i faced it with gratitude, letting my gaze glance over the tower and the runway below, a world of tiny mini-people and mini-planes.

On my first approach for landing i felt a familiar shard of fear probing the back of my mind. I was faced with a choice. Do i give in to the fear, a sweet momentary escape that can result in a permanent mistake? Or do i fight, stand up for my skills, my qualifications, my confidence, my hours and hours of hard work and training and progress?

I chose to fight. Pre-landing check. Power back to 1300. slow to within the white arc. Flaps to 10. trim. slow to 75 knots. get in line with the centreline of the runway. I let hours of practice and the voice of my instructor pour into my mind, drowning all fear, drowning all doubt.

"Cleared to land." Floating down the runway, i was 100% focus and action, and 0 % emotion. The float, the flare....and i was down. I was down! my first circuit! It wasn't my prettiest landing, but it was safe, and it meant progress.

I flew 5 more circuits that day, each more confident than the next. The walls i had built around me, walls of fear, walls of doubt, were beginning to come down. I lost myself in the process, the checklists, the scans, the situational awareness. I was healing by doing. I know i have a long way to go, but what matters most, is that i'm on my way.