It was a calm Friday night, the sun creeping across the horizon to its rest. The sky was a vivid display of oranges and pinks, and cotton ball clouds drifted aimlessly. I drove out to the airport after work, hoping that this would be the day i finally got to finish my night rating!
I had begun new record of cancelled flights, for eight days straight i'd had a booking at 17:00 to squeeze in my last 0.6 of solo circuits. Our seaside city had been experiencing one of the longest periods of heavy fog in years, no doubt due to an inversion. The cool, stable air mass had been trapped beneath the warm air mass for days, and even my non- aviation type friends were actually discussing the unusual weather over beers or at the climbing gym.
The classifications of fog have always sort of befuddled me. It may be that unlike some types of meteorological phenonmenia, i find fog kind of boring. There is nothing dynamic, mysterious, or exciting about a low lying, stable cloud deck. From what i can understand, the ingredients to the bland, grey, tasteless soup called fog are a relative humidity near 100%, and some type of condensation nuclei (molecules of crap floating in the air for condensation to cling to, such as air pollution, dust, sea salt). Trap these thrilling ingredients together close to the ground (such as underneath a warm air mass) and take away motion of air from areas of lower pressure to those of high(wind)and you get...spectacular fog!
Fog can form suddenly, and can dissipate just as rapidly, depending what side of the dew point the temperature is on. This phenomenon is known as flash fog. (i use the word phenomenon very loosely here... i would sooner refer to "how the egyptians built the pyramids!" "why do i always wait to sit down in the bathroom and do my business before i realise i have run out of toilet paper!" and "How is Bradley Cooper single again!" as phenomenons.) A surprise attack of flash fog eight days earlier had cut short what was supposed to be my last hour of solo circuits, forcing me to land, and frankly scaring the shit out of me. Come this friday, however, the conditions finally seemed favorable again!
I had booked one of the club's fanciest planes, leather seats, Garmin 430, not 30 years old, the whole works! Only problem was, this was one of the was fuel injected 172 S models, which the last time i flew, i managed to flood it on startup. This was totally embarassing and caused me to run back into the club and grab a shop guy to help me get it going again. This most likely happened because i left the boost pump on for too long, when in reality i should have attemoted a hot start because someone had already flown the aircraft earlier in the day. Within the first 20 to 30 minutes after shutdown of the previous flight, the fuel manifold is adequately primed and the empty injector nozzle lines will fill before the engine dies. However, after approximately 30 minutes, the vaporized fuel in the manifold will have nearly dissipated and some slight “priming” could be required to refill the nozzle lines and keep the engine running after the initial start. Starting a hot engine is facilitated by advancing the mixture control promptly to 1/3 open when the engine starts, and then smoothly to full rich as power develps. This is like a weird little panicky dance in which i'm trying to simultaniously crank the magnetos and slide the mixture to full rich, and i'm always freaked out that i'm not doing both actions in equal proportion to teh other. If i'm cranking for too long, i feel like i'm going to hurt the poor thing, but if i scoot the mixture to rich too fast, i feel like i'm going to drown it. Needless to say, allthough i love actually flying this plane because it handles like a dream, the process of getting it started in the first place is so daunting that i rarely actually rent it.
But on friday, everything fell into place! I started her up, taxied out as the sun was setting, and took off as the only plane in the feild and had 3 pretty much uneventful circuits to finish off my night rating! I had one funny encounter with the controller, who was clearly suffering from a case of friday night boredom, where he had me and an a dash 8 set up to land on intersecting runways, in a sequence which clearly wasn't going to work. On about a half mile final, i was just about to mention something when he quickly blurted "uhhhhhh Sierra Delta Zulu! return to your downwind leg, i'll call your base." riiiiiight. I dutifully applied full power and turned back for my base leg, ending up doing an awkward kind of orbit, as he was ready for me by the time i finally reached my downwind leg again. Not the best controlling i have ever seen!
On my next ciruit, i only had .1 to go until i was finished my hours needed for the rating, and the tower noticed fog creeping in around the terminal, as the dewpoint and temperature became equal. i called a full stop, not wanting to be stuck in it again. As i rolled into my parking spot on the apron, i could see my instructor sprinting out to me, worried that the fog had yet again thwarted my efforts to finish the rating. But luckily i had rolled in just in time, nailing my solo time to the decimal point!
So ends my night rating adventures! I am so thrilled to be yet another step closer to my goal. During my first couple hours the task had seemed impossible, my fears far overriding my desires to finish. I remember sitting next to my instructor on the downwind, after yet another shaky night landing, thinking that i would probably never finish. I wondered how all my other pilot friends had gotten through this. I figured that the accident had hurt me too deeply, shaken my resolve, my power, and my confidence too close to the core to be salvaged. That would be the end of my flying career, not out with a bang, but with a whimper. Fear getting the best of me again. But i was wrong. So wrong. I honestly feel more than ever, that absolutely nothing is going to stop me from doing this. The night rating pushed me to the edge of my comfort zone in a good way, so that i feel i have new skills, and overcome new challenges. I actually have cravings to go flying again! Ticking yet another rating off the list of things i need to do on my way to my forever career feels amazing, and gives me even more momentum for my next endeavor...my Multi Engine endorsement.
stay tuned... ;)
Mountain Meanderings
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
Sunday, January 20, 2013
The Power of Thought: Finding Calm During my Night Rating.
It's dark. It's really freaking dark.
It's funny how an activity which becomes mind-numbingly boring during private training can feel 100% different when the sun is on the other side of the planet!Flying the circuit at night felt very different, especially in my first several hours of training. The night rating is defined by Transport Canada as one which "allows a pilot to fly in VMC and navigate in visual reference to the ground, at night. This is different from instrument meteorological conditions (IMC) where the pilot flies and maintains situational awareness strictly by using instruments and avionics." The rating consists of 5 hours night, including 2 hours night cross-country, 10 hours instrument flight time, and 5 hours solo night, including at least 10 takeoffs, circuits and landings. At the flying club where i train, the solo time is administered in the form of circuits, as the area around the airport is very mountainous.
I have been working on my night rating for what feels like a zillion years. It's funny, for a rating which is normally pretty straightforward, getting night certified has been surprisingly challenging. The mental side of flying at night has been hard for me to wrap my head around...especially the most important part...landing.
I first started my night rating in October, two months after the accident. The training started with some simple VOR work over the city in straight and level. However i was still constantly running my mind over everything that could go wrong, and could not get over the feeling of disorientation and a stange sense of instability. In the same airspace in which i first took the controls just over a year before, i felt like a novice again. When my instructor and i moved on to circuit training, the sensation got even worse. Every time we were on takeoff roll, i broke into sweat and my heart was in my throat. As we levelled off from the climb and made our crosswind turn, the pounding of blood in my ears was louder than the chatter on the radio and the thrumming of the engine combined. I did my best to attempt to comouflage that every time i made a downwind radio call, i began trembling. When it came to landing, i was also a wreck. There would be nothing wrong weith my approach, I would be on short final, and low and behold, the runway would suddenly become my enemy! The approach lights glared at me in menace as if to say "you're not going to come in line with the centre line of the runway!" the ground looked about a billion times harder that more definite than it did during the daytime, and once i was in ground effect, i had an overwhelming desire to be on the ground as soon as possible, which would lead to me slamming it down without bothering to be patient and flare until my main gear touched down gently with a whisper. My instructor informed me (later, over beers after a circuit practice full of terrible landings) that he was convinced i was actually out to kill him.
Not knowing what else to do about this intense and irrational feeling of fear, i turned to my hippy side, which has yet to fail me. I asked myself, "what will it take to make me a good pilot at night?" Two answers came to me: Confidence, and Peace. Both undeniably intertwined. Where was it in the world that i felt most at peace? As soon as i was on the ground, i was on my iphone, looking up the hours of my local yoga studio. I arrived at the mat the next day with an intention. Take the sense of unity, calm, and space that i discovered each time in my practice, and hold on to it, only to release it again in the cockpit. Many downward dogs and shavasana's later... I made my very first fear free takeoff at night. It was unreal. If i truly approached my circuits with thesense of peace that i cultivated on the mat, i was suddenly able to fly confidently, with deliberate and exact motions. My instructor didn't know what to make of my sudden transition. "Your landings are looking great!" he exclaimed one night. "What happened?" I smiled to myself, thinking how silly "Yoga!" would sound as a response to a fellow pilot, a breed who are constantly on the hunt to validate thier progress and decision-makng with hard facts, numbers, evidence and empircal knowledge. I smiled to myself again, "Practice, I guess!" Was my response.
That night he called a full stop and let me go for my first round of solo circuits, which i handled at first with jitters and a very heightened sense of awareness, slowly relaxing into process and calm focus. Since that first day of circuits i have had my fair share of taxing experienceat night. There was one runway change that left me totally disoriented, and left the tower guys chuckling on the radio and teasing me later. ("Zulu Mike Kilo is....um....sorry...I'm kind of confused!"- not a shining moment in my radio ettiquette!) and one night where i simultaniously entered a chunk of cloud, and lost the post light to my VSI and Tachometer at the same time! However, each time i encountered something more challenging at night, i was able to handle it with a tiny bit more of confidence, grace, and calm. It was, in many ways a small step towards the full renaissance of my "flying lady-balls!" (I can feel it coming!!!)
Last week we took a cross country trip to Abbotsford, Pitt Meadows, over downtown Vancouver Harbour, Nanaimo, and back home. It was beautiful and a complete reward for all the hours of training, both mentally and physically. The entire cityscape was alight and twinkling and humming with life down below, as we darted like a firefly high above the vast expanse of humanity. It was like looking at a galaxy on the ground, patterns and patchworks of sparkling beautiful lights dancing underneath us. Though this rating has been for me a challenging exercise, it has been a beautiful discovery of the power of thought in influencing attitude and performance. That in itself is worth searching the dark skies for...
It's funny how an activity which becomes mind-numbingly boring during private training can feel 100% different when the sun is on the other side of the planet!Flying the circuit at night felt very different, especially in my first several hours of training. The night rating is defined by Transport Canada as one which "allows a pilot to fly in VMC and navigate in visual reference to the ground, at night. This is different from instrument meteorological conditions (IMC) where the pilot flies and maintains situational awareness strictly by using instruments and avionics." The rating consists of 5 hours night, including 2 hours night cross-country, 10 hours instrument flight time, and 5 hours solo night, including at least 10 takeoffs, circuits and landings. At the flying club where i train, the solo time is administered in the form of circuits, as the area around the airport is very mountainous.
I have been working on my night rating for what feels like a zillion years. It's funny, for a rating which is normally pretty straightforward, getting night certified has been surprisingly challenging. The mental side of flying at night has been hard for me to wrap my head around...especially the most important part...landing.
I first started my night rating in October, two months after the accident. The training started with some simple VOR work over the city in straight and level. However i was still constantly running my mind over everything that could go wrong, and could not get over the feeling of disorientation and a stange sense of instability. In the same airspace in which i first took the controls just over a year before, i felt like a novice again. When my instructor and i moved on to circuit training, the sensation got even worse. Every time we were on takeoff roll, i broke into sweat and my heart was in my throat. As we levelled off from the climb and made our crosswind turn, the pounding of blood in my ears was louder than the chatter on the radio and the thrumming of the engine combined. I did my best to attempt to comouflage that every time i made a downwind radio call, i began trembling. When it came to landing, i was also a wreck. There would be nothing wrong weith my approach, I would be on short final, and low and behold, the runway would suddenly become my enemy! The approach lights glared at me in menace as if to say "you're not going to come in line with the centre line of the runway!" the ground looked about a billion times harder that more definite than it did during the daytime, and once i was in ground effect, i had an overwhelming desire to be on the ground as soon as possible, which would lead to me slamming it down without bothering to be patient and flare until my main gear touched down gently with a whisper. My instructor informed me (later, over beers after a circuit practice full of terrible landings) that he was convinced i was actually out to kill him.
Not knowing what else to do about this intense and irrational feeling of fear, i turned to my hippy side, which has yet to fail me. I asked myself, "what will it take to make me a good pilot at night?" Two answers came to me: Confidence, and Peace. Both undeniably intertwined. Where was it in the world that i felt most at peace? As soon as i was on the ground, i was on my iphone, looking up the hours of my local yoga studio. I arrived at the mat the next day with an intention. Take the sense of unity, calm, and space that i discovered each time in my practice, and hold on to it, only to release it again in the cockpit. Many downward dogs and shavasana's later... I made my very first fear free takeoff at night. It was unreal. If i truly approached my circuits with thesense of peace that i cultivated on the mat, i was suddenly able to fly confidently, with deliberate and exact motions. My instructor didn't know what to make of my sudden transition. "Your landings are looking great!" he exclaimed one night. "What happened?" I smiled to myself, thinking how silly "Yoga!" would sound as a response to a fellow pilot, a breed who are constantly on the hunt to validate thier progress and decision-makng with hard facts, numbers, evidence and empircal knowledge. I smiled to myself again, "Practice, I guess!" Was my response.
That night he called a full stop and let me go for my first round of solo circuits, which i handled at first with jitters and a very heightened sense of awareness, slowly relaxing into process and calm focus. Since that first day of circuits i have had my fair share of taxing experienceat night. There was one runway change that left me totally disoriented, and left the tower guys chuckling on the radio and teasing me later. ("Zulu Mike Kilo is....um....sorry...I'm kind of confused!"- not a shining moment in my radio ettiquette!) and one night where i simultaniously entered a chunk of cloud, and lost the post light to my VSI and Tachometer at the same time! However, each time i encountered something more challenging at night, i was able to handle it with a tiny bit more of confidence, grace, and calm. It was, in many ways a small step towards the full renaissance of my "flying lady-balls!" (I can feel it coming!!!)
Last week we took a cross country trip to Abbotsford, Pitt Meadows, over downtown Vancouver Harbour, Nanaimo, and back home. It was beautiful and a complete reward for all the hours of training, both mentally and physically. The entire cityscape was alight and twinkling and humming with life down below, as we darted like a firefly high above the vast expanse of humanity. It was like looking at a galaxy on the ground, patterns and patchworks of sparkling beautiful lights dancing underneath us. Though this rating has been for me a challenging exercise, it has been a beautiful discovery of the power of thought in influencing attitude and performance. That in itself is worth searching the dark skies for...
Monday, December 17, 2012
Words from a Friend
Here i sit, staring warily at my pile of charts, CapGEN, IFR workbook, notepad, e6B and calculator. I am studying for my IFR exam (INRAT), and sometimes, the task seems so daunting that i feel i will never actually finish. IFR has been the hardest big step in my training progress. I feel like i used to be making Kraft Dinner, and now i'm supposed to be opening a 4-star restaurants. Numbers, rules, abbreviations, and equations all swim around in my head, bumping into the sore and throbbing walls of my brain like little toy boats in the bathtub. Sometimes i just want to give up!
I was on one of my regular facebook-stalking study hiatuses yesterday when i came across a post from a friend and fellow writer/adventurer that really inspired me. It feels wonderful to know that i am not alone in the world striving towards something very challenging. I would like to share his words with you.
"Very few things in life are easy. Very often we struggle to do the tasks at hand, and we get tired, and we get a bit broken. This isn't abnormal, but the more difficult work of living and growing, and moving forward.
If you're climbing the mountain, we're roped up and cheering you on, or handing you hot chocolate. If you're paused at a view point or a peak, we celebrate your location, and the work it took to get there.
Looking ahead you may be aiming at a higher peak, or traversing a ridge, or descending to a valley floor.
All of those are moving forward. And have their time and place.
Very few things in life are easy.
You aren't doing it wrong.
You're doing it the the best you can.
And we can all benefit from adding to our skills, our conditioning, and our vision. Which usually involves falling down, and getting up, and falling down. And getting up.
So to all of you, walking this lifey-path, you have my support and huzzah. Keep up the good work ;)
Time for tea and a moment's enjoying the view, before I awkwardly trudge up this morning's ridgeline ;)"
Read more at http://www.maplemusketeer.com
"Very few things in life are easy. Very often we struggle to do the tasks at hand, and we get tired, and we get a bit broken. This isn't abnormal, but the more difficult work of living and growing, and moving forward.
If you're climbing the mountain, we're roped up and cheering you on, or handing you hot chocolate. If you're paused at a view point or a peak, we celebrate your location, and the work it took to get there.
Looking ahead you may be aiming at a higher peak, or traversing a ridge, or descending to a valley floor.
All of those are moving forward. And have their time and place.
Very few things in life are easy.
You aren't doing it wrong.
You're doing it the the best you can.
And we can all benefit from adding to our skills, our conditioning, and our vision. Which usually involves falling down, and getting up, and falling down. And getting up.
So to all of you, walking this lifey-path, you have my support and huzzah. Keep up the good work ;)
Time for tea and a moment's enjoying the view, before I awkwardly trudge up this morning's ridgeline ;)"
Read more at http://www.maplemusketeer.com
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Genesis
It was 2011. Summer was ending, the early Autumn lay low in the sky, casting shadows over the secrets i had kept and the stories i had told.
I was all alone with my thoughts, my fractured relationship, and my own guilt. My heart was broken in half, a chasm with no end. What do people do when they have becomc totally lost? Where do you go when you have betrayed even yourself? There was no escape from my sadness. I had uprooted one of the only things in my life that had always been constant, my relationship. I was at a crossroads. Having cloaked myself in secrets, i hid alone in the caverns of my own thoughts.
Confused about my relationship, my goals, my morals, my identity, my future career plans. I had to escape the earth, only for a moment. So there I found myself. In the left seat of a Cessna 152. I looked warily at the yoke, scanned the array of bewitching and indimidating dials with a set of cautious eyes. The instructor next to me, hazel eyes fraught with curiosity, regarded me with intruige.
“So, have you ever played flight sim? He asked, his voice full of ill-disguised amusement. “Uh, not really” I responded.
“D’you wanna fly for a living?” He probed on.
“Uh, yeah!” I said, hoping that would placate him.
“Oh, what do you want to fly?”
Oh shit.
“um, you know, like… for Air Canada or something!”
I guess that sounded like a good answer… until…
“Oh cool. What type of aircraft?”
Oh my god. What was I doing here. I don’t know anything about airplanes! I have an ART DEGREE! Granted, I had been on a grand total of 47 flights in my life so far, (yes, I used to count!), and my Dad had been an air traffic controller for 35 years. But I didn't know a Beaver from an F18! I squeak and grab the armrest when the airliner hits a little pocket of air on commercial flights to Hawaii. Plus, I really don’t like roller coasters. Aren’t pilots supposed to be daredevils? And now I’m going to FLY A PLANE!?! Was I finally going crazy!?!
As it turns out, I wasn’t. And I knew it the moment my two hands touched the yoke. Well….maybe not the moment, but several moments after that, once I had regained my composure and realized that it wasn’t going to fall out of the sky without my instructor holding onto it.
Flying set me free. The months of hating myself for my actions within my relationship, the years of lost trust when my world fell out from under me during family duress in my teens, the self-formed impression that I was limited to a set of expectations set by what I was “used to doing”, “good at”, “supposed to be doing”…it all fell away, during that first hour in my logbook. I found a way to freedom, an avenue to forgive myself and find balance again in my shambles of a life.
I can pretend that "i always had a thirst for adventure," that it was "in my blood", or that i was "looking for a responsible career path", but the true set of events that led me to the flying club that day were nowhere near as inspired. The true inspiration happened when i began to feel myself grow, expanding my courage, my intellect, my understanding, and my world as i made baby steps of progress in flight training. Real magic happens under the veil of night, when the sun sets and the stars come out. It begins slowly, as the bright orb creeps across the horizon, casting golden rays across our paths. Then, moment by moment, as darkness tiptoes in, the stars begin to flicker, a slow and gentle flush across the night sky. Each time i returned to the airplane, each mind-boggling ground school lecture, every little success, that is what inspired me to choose aviation as a career, a lifestyle, a way of thinking. Flying was coming home. I could close the little cabin door, take a deep breath, and lose myself in the total focus and regimen of flight training.
As they say, life is not about the destination, but the journey. When it came to flying, it was the journey that got me hooked, and it is the journey that brings me back to push onwards, and to make my passion into my life's work.
And so i return, waiting with a smile for the stars to come out again each night...
I was all alone with my thoughts, my fractured relationship, and my own guilt. My heart was broken in half, a chasm with no end. What do people do when they have becomc totally lost? Where do you go when you have betrayed even yourself? There was no escape from my sadness. I had uprooted one of the only things in my life that had always been constant, my relationship. I was at a crossroads. Having cloaked myself in secrets, i hid alone in the caverns of my own thoughts.
Confused about my relationship, my goals, my morals, my identity, my future career plans. I had to escape the earth, only for a moment. So there I found myself. In the left seat of a Cessna 152. I looked warily at the yoke, scanned the array of bewitching and indimidating dials with a set of cautious eyes. The instructor next to me, hazel eyes fraught with curiosity, regarded me with intruige.
“So, have you ever played flight sim? He asked, his voice full of ill-disguised amusement. “Uh, not really” I responded.
“D’you wanna fly for a living?” He probed on.
“Uh, yeah!” I said, hoping that would placate him.
“Oh, what do you want to fly?”
Oh shit.
“um, you know, like… for Air Canada or something!”
I guess that sounded like a good answer… until…
“Oh cool. What type of aircraft?”
Oh my god. What was I doing here. I don’t know anything about airplanes! I have an ART DEGREE! Granted, I had been on a grand total of 47 flights in my life so far, (yes, I used to count!), and my Dad had been an air traffic controller for 35 years. But I didn't know a Beaver from an F18! I squeak and grab the armrest when the airliner hits a little pocket of air on commercial flights to Hawaii. Plus, I really don’t like roller coasters. Aren’t pilots supposed to be daredevils? And now I’m going to FLY A PLANE!?! Was I finally going crazy!?!
As it turns out, I wasn’t. And I knew it the moment my two hands touched the yoke. Well….maybe not the moment, but several moments after that, once I had regained my composure and realized that it wasn’t going to fall out of the sky without my instructor holding onto it.
Flying set me free. The months of hating myself for my actions within my relationship, the years of lost trust when my world fell out from under me during family duress in my teens, the self-formed impression that I was limited to a set of expectations set by what I was “used to doing”, “good at”, “supposed to be doing”…it all fell away, during that first hour in my logbook. I found a way to freedom, an avenue to forgive myself and find balance again in my shambles of a life.
I can pretend that "i always had a thirst for adventure," that it was "in my blood", or that i was "looking for a responsible career path", but the true set of events that led me to the flying club that day were nowhere near as inspired. The true inspiration happened when i began to feel myself grow, expanding my courage, my intellect, my understanding, and my world as i made baby steps of progress in flight training. Real magic happens under the veil of night, when the sun sets and the stars come out. It begins slowly, as the bright orb creeps across the horizon, casting golden rays across our paths. Then, moment by moment, as darkness tiptoes in, the stars begin to flicker, a slow and gentle flush across the night sky. Each time i returned to the airplane, each mind-boggling ground school lecture, every little success, that is what inspired me to choose aviation as a career, a lifestyle, a way of thinking. Flying was coming home. I could close the little cabin door, take a deep breath, and lose myself in the total focus and regimen of flight training.
As they say, life is not about the destination, but the journey. When it came to flying, it was the journey that got me hooked, and it is the journey that brings me back to push onwards, and to make my passion into my life's work.
And so i return, waiting with a smile for the stars to come out again each night...
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
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.
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.
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