OK, I don't know why I haven't previously put this online. It's an essay I wrote for a writing club in November of 2005. I've also placed it on my web site in PDF form:
http://switchtech.us/TextFiles/What_I_Miss_About_Flying.pdfJohn B. Sandlin
What I Miss About FlyingEveryone experiences it (so I’m told); the dream of flying, arms outstretched, soaring. You look around, not even the birds fly this high. This creates joyous exhilaration for some, stark terror for others. The dream is about power, freedom, or control. I flew like this for real. Of course I had a small airplane wrapped around me at the time.
Flying always interested me. I took lessons when I was in my teens, but didn’t get many hours before I stopped for financial reasons. Flying small airplanes costs real money. I enjoyed flying immensely and I’ll describe why in a moment.
Many years passed. I grew up, moved away, got married and started a family. The passion to fly resurfaced and, again, I took lessons. Due to financial pressure, however, I stopped before becoming certified. Twenty years didn’t do anything to make flying less expensive!
Flying small aircraft - during nice weather, anyway – gives a sense of freedom. Size matters in Texas; bigger is better. The open airspace here follows suit, delivering plenty of flying space. I enjoyed flying from small airport to small airport; we call it Cross Country Flying, the most. Take off is anti-climatic; the aircraft gently lifts from the ground and begins flying. The sense of freedom begins immediately, within the limits of airport etiquette. Flying must be approached and managed with deliberate seriousness, yet I never found it dull. Next the plane and I depart the pattern. We point our nose, with allowances for the wind, where we want to go. I was flying from the Castroville Airport, which the Feds call T89 (Tango Eight Niner) and headed toward Fredericksburg. As the reward for flying two thousand feet above the ground I saw many hidden things: ponds, small private lakes, private airfields and airparks, and thousands of acres of the Texas Hill Country.
I placed my trust in a paper map, the compass, and landmarks I’d picked from the map. Major highways reveal themselves with bright ribbons stretching from horizon to horizon in gently sweeping curves, where highways meet I marked my map. Checked against my watch, these landmarks revealed my progress, the corrections I needed, and a sense of my position – most of the time. On another flight I did misplace myself by a few miles after missing two landmarks in a row. But that’s another story.
I approached the field in Fredericksburg (we pilots call it Tango Eight Two) calling on the radio to let anyone listening I intended to land. I circled the field, checked the windsock, and made another few radio calls. No one answered my calls, the operations closed on weekends, making the airport unattended. I flew the pattern, left turns always, each leg at the right power and speed, adjusting the altitude (we pilots call this flying by the numbers, airspeed, power, altitude). With no one watching, I made a great landing – at least I don’t remember bouncing!
I got out of the plane to stretch my legs and find a phone. Airports usually have a public use phone available, somewhere. I found a pay phone near the close office and called the Flight Service Station to report my safe landing and schedule my flight back. Technically I didn’t legally need to use the Flight Service Station, but my instructor wanted me to use them, in case I got lost or went down. With nothing to do but stare at the closed sign on the FBO (Fixed Based Operator) office door, I got back in my plane and prepared to take off. I listened in amusement as a pilot with the advanced navigation tools in his aircraft tried to find the airport. I tried to respond on the radio that I saw him flying overhead. With the airport immediately below, this pilot dependent on technology couldn’t find the field. I checked my paper map and the indications of the windsock, planned my flight, and flew home.
Planning your flight and flying your plan reward you in so many ways. The ego gets a boost for a job well done. The emotions soar along with the plane, banking, sweeping, gliding and climbing – even when the plane flies straight and level. The memory gains another story, embellishing here and there for proper effect (though I swear I really made a sweet landing, honest!). We pilots call those Hanger Tales.
I keep using “we” with “pilots” though I never did get that license. The feeling of flying stays with you. I’m a pilot, grounded by technicalities, law, and finance. In my dreams I fly.
(copyright 2005 by John B. Sandlin)